


Metal Heart

by Swish42



Series: Shattered Soul Series [3]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future City, Gen, Pranks, Robots, child gaster, deceitful characters, short lived child neglect, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2020-10-18 15:24:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20641391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swish42/pseuds/Swish42
Summary: Young WingDings Gaster is once again dropped into a world unexpectedly, only this time he’s hidden away by the richest and most fabulous monster in the city for reasons he may never understand.





	1. Worst Birthday Ever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Onto to the next world. As before you don’t have to read the last story to enjoy this one, although Shyren and Tenga are referenced. All you need to know is that in the last world our young WingDings was spirited away to a place under the sea and Shyren took great care of him. 
> 
> Young WingDings has been dropped in a new world yet again where he hopes to find another piece of his shattered soul.

There are plenty of birthday’s that don’t live up to the hype and for WingDings this one takes the cake. Drowned in a heavy mist and the flicker of neon lights, WingDings blinks and stumbles back into a hard metal plated wall. All he did was blink and he finds himself in a new world far from his birthday celebration in his comfortable warm home. The shock alone is enough to cause the child to choke on his own breath and sag against the cold wet wall behind him. Sliding down the slick biting iron, the child attempts to catch his breath as his wide eyes stare forward unseeing.

When he hits the damp concrete of the cracked sidewalk he closes his eyes and rests his head against the wall, taking a slow even breath, one after the other in time with the gentle drip of precipitation dropping down from some unseen ledge. Swallowing back a tang of magic determination threatening to build, he slowly opens his eyes and takes in his surroundings.

The buildings are slick and dark, nearly black, chaotically reflecting the colorful neon tube lighting riveted to the signs and the tops of staggering buildings. Everything smells metallic and stale, with a slight burning sensation of evaporation tickling his nasal cavity. As he looks around he hears the distant roar of an engine as it rips through the eerily silent city. It grows louder, turning up the street he’s on and erupting past him like a hurricane.

WingDings has enough time to tuck his body close to himself as the motorcycle careens past him, drenching him in filthy water. Twitching and grunting in disgust, the child flicks his hands out trying to rid himself of the filth when the unfamiliar glint and shine of metal reflects off his wrists and hands. With a jerk he stops the motion and looks down at his hands with widening eyes and the lights of his sight dim.

It’s metal.

Instead of bone his arms and hands are entirely made of a dark silver metal with colorful glowing wires peeking at him between the joints. Whimpering, he turns his hands over, back and forth, before madly lifting the sleeves of his shirt to see just how far up it goes. The metal appendages stop at his shoulder blades the wires continue through his ribs. He pokes at the neck of his shirt trying to look at himself as best he can. From what he can tell the wires connect to his burning soul and some other metal devices lodged in his ribs.

For a second or two WingDings sight darkens and he is short of breath. Reaching up he clutches his eye sockets and shuts his eyes, shaking his head in an attempt rid himself of the strange feeling. As he shakes himself, he feels something tickle over his femur which easily distracts him from his anxiety. 

Assuming it will simply be trickling water, he glances down to see a small spider cross over him and make its way to something beside him. Seconds later a large assembly of spiders that were seeking refuge behind him scramble to his left where the remnants of a very soggy bake sale is sitting.

Apparently he provided some necessary cover for the spiders when the motorcycle ripped down the street. They’ve been saved from the water, but now their bake sale is nearly ruined.

Filled with compassion, WingDings is careful as he hunches over the collection of small crates laden with platters of tiny baked goods and attempts to help them. With precise and careful hands he removes the dirt and grime from their makeshift tables and does his best to salvage what cakes and breads he can. When they have done what they can he wishes the spiders well before asking them where he is.

The spiders, like the spiders of his world cannot answer him loud enough to be heard. They attempt signing to him, but their hands and arms are so tiny he can’t tell what they’re saying. Thanking them anyway, he stands with the mind to find someone else to ask, but he spots some pieces of garbage and cracks a grin.

He doesn’t see garbage.

Using some small broken pieces of cement, a sheet of metal pipe and large cans, he constructs a covering for their bake sale. He can barely make out their cheers of admiration and gratitude as he looks at his impromptu shelter for them. Satisfied, he accepts their thanks and cautiously makes his way down the street, sticking to the shadows of the flickering street lights as he goes. The area doesn’t have a lot of doors, mostly steal shutters and all of them are rolled down and bolted shut.

As he travels he hears that motorcycle again, racing through the city a couple blocks away. Not wishing to get wet again he hides behind a crumbling planter, which holds nothing but dirt and dead weeds. The driver passes by whooping and hollering this time and not a few seconds later a series of sirens and humming sounds quickly follow after it. Peeking around his shelter, WingDings watches as not only the cyclist disappears around a corner but a number of flying and wheeled robots chasing it.

“This is a business area, no citizens are to be here after curfew. Repeat, no citizens are to. . .” a mechanical voice announces, swiftly teetering off in the distance as they zoom away after their target.

Fascinated, WingDings wonders what kind of robots these are as they travel past him. He’s never seen anything quite that sophisticated. Aside from Mettaton, but he is a monster with a robot body, which isn’t the same thing as far as WingDings understands it. Quietly, he slips out from behind his shelter and scurries along, hoping to find a house or person who can help him.

Someone to help him find a piece of his soul so he can get back to his birthday party as soon as possible. He hadn’t even opened his birthday presents yet and if he had maybe he’d have something to snack on. Frowning and fidgeting unhappily he continues to wander the streets, doing his best to read the street signs and only doubling back when he winds up in a dead end.

When he is exiting one of the dead-end alleys again the roar of the motorcycle assaults his ears. As he hides in the alley he wonders just how long that crazy person is going to be out in the dead of night ripping though the streets. This time when the hollering driver passes they have an army of robots chasing them, all of which are repeating the same mantra about civilians and curfews as they pass.

With an unimpressed hum and shake of his head, WingDings steps out of the alley only to have a robot swoop in from above and land with a thud on two large legs. Rattled and terrified by the unexpected sight, the skeleton trembles as he peers up at the towering robot. A hiss of steam escapes from its back as the robot adjusts its stance and leans forward. The robot doesn’t necessarily have a head, but a rounded hump with a rectangular lens acting as its optical nerve. There is a crest on it’s left best plate, depicting a stretched oval shape with half a rectangle sprouting from the top. Underneath in small blocky letters is written M.C.P, which WingDings can barely make out.

“Scanning civilian,” the robot announces, a green light flashes in its head before something tickles his soul and the new electric pieces of his body. Wearily WingDings lifts his arms to cover his chest, hunching forward and glaring at the robot with a flash of red in his eyes. He is scared, but he’s determined not to let it show.

“Data not found, initiating check,” the robot continues with another flash of green and a queasy feeling in WingDings chest and body.

Name: WingFris--- Error  
Age: Fifty-666--- Error  
Health Points: Twenty-6666--- Error  
Attack Points: Two-666--- Error  
Defense Points: Four-66--- Error  
Description: “Beware the man who came from another world”

As the robot rattles off his stats WingDings eye lights completely disappear and become nothing but two black pits. He doesn’t like what the robot is saying and he doesn’t understand any of it. He’s never been in a fight before, never even checked another person in such a way. He’s never had to. The ‘checks’ he’s been taught to perform only reveal a souls tendency to good versus evil.

“There is insufficient data provided to construct an accurate report,” the robot stands to its full height and lifts a hand summoning a bright light that flashes harmlessly at WingDings. The boy flinches and steps back rubbing his sensitive eye sockets. “Waiting for commands. Do not move citizen.”

Nothing in the robots voice or tone encourages WingDings to obey the command and he doesn’t want to stick around to find out what happens next. Since fighting is not an option the boy turns around to runs for the nearest hazy side street. 

He doesn’t get far. 

With a swift motion the child is easily snagged by the back of his shirt to keep him from going anywhere. “Let me go!” WingDings demands as the robot proceeds to repeat his previous statement.

“Awaiting commands. Do not move citizen,” it says, making the child struggle even more. He can hear the fabric of his wet shirt strain at the force, but like most wet fabric it refuses to tear easily.

As WingDings continues to yell and command the robot to let him go, he is lifted into the air. “The unknown citizen has been acquired, you will be brought to the M.C.E for further examination,” it says.

WingDings stops squirming as a mix of fear and rage fuels him, the dark pits of his eyes replaced with rings of blazing red.

“Magic detected, initiating subje-. . .” the robot is cut off when a large creature with the distorted body of a muffin clamps down on the robots upper half, smashing it to pieces, with crumbs of metal and batter falling to the wet pavement.

A series of screeching peeps and whines pierce WingDings head before a feeling of weightlessness clutches his soul. With the robot immobilized, WingDings is released from its clutches and sent plummeting towards the cracked asphalt. Thinking he’s going to hit the ground WingDings summons his magic hands but it proves unnecessary when a purple thread shots out and snags him midair, pulling him up into the air and through a dark window.

Screaming, WingDings is cut off when a hand covers his mouth and several more hands hold him tight. “Ahuhuhuhu,” a gentle laugh tickles his skull. The child recognizes the laugh and relaxes a little. “Best be quiet, deary. Don’t wish to be caught.”

Before he can thank her with his hands, since she wants him to be quiet, the spider monster robs him of the chance as she wraps him up in a bundle of web. “Oh, too late, Ahuhuhu, looks like I caught you instead,” Muffet chuckles with one of her hands to her mouth as she spins him up nice and neat. “Be a good little morsel and behave for my pet. He’ll escort you home.”

Shaking his head, WingDings summons his hands to attempt speaking again, the magic arching in front of him with yellow light. “Please don’t hurt me Miss Muffet,” he tells her. “I’m sorry I didn’t buy anything.” He might be young, be he knows you don’t pass by Muffet’s without buying a treat.

She blinks all of her eyes at him before giggling pleasantly again. “Oh deary, I won’t hurt you,” she says tapping his nasal ridge playfully. “Any friends of spiders are friends of mine.”

Before he can ask her more, he is flung into something mushy and in a whirl he is hurled out the window, only this time when he falls he cannot scream and he is heading straight for a city drain. Shutting his eyes, a ghastly smell hits him and makes him feel sick as the scuttling legs of her pet clicks along in the dark. He doesn’t dare open his eyes and breathes as little as possible.

Feeling his ever constant fear of the dark close in around him, WingDings finds that the only reason he doesn’t freak out is because of the awful smell. He knows they’re out of the sewers when the wet metallic air bites at him and the glow of pink and purple neon lights assaults the rims of his eyelids. It isn’t long before he is scurried into a small shop that smells of bread, cakes, tea and coffee. It is truly a blissful smell after everything else he’s had to smell since arriving to this awful place. He is moved past the delicious smelling food and is brought up some stairs into the apartment of Miss Muffet who is waiting for him calmly at her pleasant kitchenette table.

“Welcome deary,” she tells him, coming forward to unravel him from her muffin spider pet. With delicate fingers and steady hands she unlaces him from his bounds, catching him with her two lower arms before he can topple to the floor. “I can’t thank you enough for supporting my friends in the storage district,” she says drying him with an old towel. “They worked so hard to get that bake sale ready for the early garbage rush and as you know bakers start their day quite early.”

“. . . You’re welcome Miss Muffet,” he says politely with his hands and voice, all while doing his best to stay upright and look her in the eyes despite being put through a metaphoric drier machine with her four hands toweling him off in a frenzy. He is shaking and takes a step back when he feels uncomfortably close to her and sufficiently dry. She isn’t a stranger necessarily, but he didn’t realize she spun people up in a cocoon of web so casually, even those she likes.

Her appearance is a bit different from what he’s used to. Instead of wearing her hair in two cute pig-tails, it is pulled back into two French braids trailing down her back. She is wearing a dark maroon half jacket, with zippers and belts decorating it, along with a black blouse and matching maroon skirt that has a slit at the side with torn stockings.

The strange clothing makes WingDings wonder what sort of world he’s been tossed into this time if a prissy woman like Muffet has adopted a grunge look to match the dark neon city.

“Thank you for stopping the robot,” he says, wondering if he needs to continue signing to her or if she can understand him.

“You mean the Patrol?” she asks, putting one hand to her chin as she motions with her other arm towards one of her extra chairs. “Well I couldn’t let such a kind child be taken by those spider stompers now could I?”

“MmmHmm,” he nods. A lot has happen and he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, and easily takes her suggestion to sit as if it were his only option. When he’s seated WingDings relaxes a little, flickering eye lights becoming more solid as he looks up at Muffet with a small smile.

“Ahuhuhuhu,” Muffet chuckles, taking her tea and pouring a cup for both of them. “You aren’t from around here are you?”

Biting the edge of his mouth WingDings hands sway with uncertainly. “No,” he says with visible uncertainty.

The young woman squints two of her left eyes at him with curiosity. “Oh?” she says taking a careful sip. “Best I set you straight then deary. You’re in Metta City, the shops district in the slums to be precise.”

“The slums?” WingDings asks. This actually makes a lot of sense considering his exploration so far.

“Yes, the slums,” Muffet says in distaste. “Up top only the ‘worthy’ are allowed to live with their servants while the rest of us scrounge out a living down here. I’m hoping to earn enough credits to open a shop up top and make a better home for my friends and I.”

“That’s nice,” WingDings politely answers. “You have a very lovely bakery.”

“Oh, what a flatter you are,” she waves a hand at him while laughing lightly behind one hand, until she twists it around to tap her chin. “Although I feel a little cheated since you know me but I have no name to call you by.”

“I’m sorry,” WingDings quickly says, his hands flicking quickly. “I’m WingDings Gaster and I’m six years old.” He is so happy that he can say that now. At six year old he really is a big kid . . . at least in his opinion.

Muffet’s smile glistens, while she takes another sip of tea. Remembering the tea, WingDings quickly takes a sip and tries not to make a face as he swallows the dark liquid. It’s very bitter.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name before,” she tells him putting a cube of sugar in her cup and stirring it. She moves the dish of sugar closer to WingDings with one of her hands while continuing to enjoy her own. He accepts the sugar and puts in one. After taking a sip of tea and disliking it, he adds another piece of sugar. Each time he takes a sip of tea he ends up adding another piece of sugar until he’s added five. By that time, it’s tolerable but he still doesn’t especially like it.

But to be frank he doesn’t even like the tea Asgore makes.

With a hand to her mouth Muffet laughs gleefully at the sight. “What a silly child you are,” she says offering him a small cookie brought to her by one her many spider friends. “I’m tempted to keep you, but sadly I cannot. For the right amount, perhaps, but as it is you don’t have anything to your name.”

Feeling a little uncomfortable again WingDings remembers to belatedly checks the quality of her soul. He doesn’t sense any evil in her, but that doesn’t reassure him. “I . . . don’t,” he confirms.

“But I would feel some regret if I simply turned you lose to be captured by the spider stompers,” she says. “I’ll contact an acquaintance of mine, they should be able to get you back home to your family.”

A familiar feeling of helplessness weighs heavy on WingDings shoulders as she says this. She makes it sound so easy and he doesn’t know how to respond. This is starting to look a lot like how his last world trip began, getting dropped in someone else’s lap because they didn’t really understand who or what he was. “Thank you Miss Muffet,” he says instead. “When I get some G I’ll be sure to come by for some pastries.”

“Ahuhuhuhu, I don’t need the letter G, I need credits deary,” she says and stands from her chair. As she does so the spiders proceed to clear the table for her, taking WingDings unfinished cup of tea and half eaten cookie from him as well.

Frowning, WingDings doesn’t have the heart to argue with his eight legged hosts and waits patiently at the table as Miss Muffet makes her way to a phone device mounted on the wall. It seems strangely old fashioned for a place with robots patrolling the streets, but the child simple notes the peculiarity for later thought. He doesn’t know nearly enough about this world to make any judgments about Miss Muffet based on her old phone.

He only knows enough about her personality to make him want to leave.

“Yes Gerson, this is Miss Muffet, I do hope you are well,” his hostess chimes, flicking a piece of unseen dust from her counter top as she fiddles with the cord of her phone. After hearing the turtle’s reply she laughs, putting a characteristic hand to her cheek and squinting her eyes darkly. “Ahuhuhuhu How rude! Well, I must say that the feeling is mutual wrinkly one, but you’re the fastest contact for Miss Undyne so my hands were all tied.”

She waits again, her smile and laugh growing as the gruff tone of the turtle blares through the speaker. Holding away the ear piece, the spider shows only delight even with the old man’s attitude. “Oh I’m sure you could imagine better Gerson, but to think that was Undyne blaring through the streets tonight, I thought she was more responsible.”

No sooner are the words spoken then the phone erupts into more loud complaints from the other end. When Muffet feels it is safe to bring the phone to her ear again, she begins to speak. “Now listen Gerson, when Miss Undyne finds herself the time to leave prison I was hoping she . . .” her eyes go wide and she looks at the phone piece in surprise. “Well I never, how rude.” Carefully she returns the earpiece delicately to its hook and moves around the island to join WingDings again.

“I’ll have to contact someone else I suppose, for now deary you should get some rest, I can set up the couch for you,” she says and moves to a wall closet where a blanket and pillow are gently lowered into her arms. “Would you like me to tuck you in?” As she unfolds the blanket WingDings can make out the shiny thin threads of webs between her fingers.

Quickly shaking his head, WingDings answers. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m a big boy,” he tells her zipping to the couch in the commons area and lying down nervously.

“Ahuhuhuhu, of course you are,” she tells him, placing the pillow behind his head and letting the blanket fall into place.

Nervously clutching the blanket, WingDings scrunches himself into a ball and lies on his side. “Th-thank you Miss Muffet,” he says. “For everything.”

“Of course deary,” in a strange show of fondness, she adjusts the blanket and pats his arm. “You are my precious guest.”

While he still feels a little uneasy he gives her a brave smile. “And the robots?”

A warm smile tips her lips and squints the largest of her eyes. “You have nothing to fear while in my web. I never lose anything I catch.” Playfully tapping his nasal ridge, she gives him one more smile before turning out the lamp and leaving him alone.

Well if he didn’t have a chill going down his spine before he certainly does now. He watches her leave back downstairs, returning to the bakery to no doubt get back to work. Not once did the monster ask him to elaborate on his circumstances, in fact she asked the bare minimum of questions, compared to Shyren and Tenga she isn’t all that responsible.

As the darkness settles in around him, he glows his eyes brightly to illuminate the room. The corners crawl with blackness, as the spiders who call this place home settle in for the remainder of the night. While the effect is scary, WingDings would rather have company than be all alone. The darkness the spider’s bodies create isn’t as scary as the alternative and he easily calms from the excitement of this new world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say except this is a bit darker than the last two stories I’ve posted. Despite WingDings being six I put him through some scary situations this time around, which I suppose I’ve done, but this one feels different to me. At the time of writing this over a year ago I didn’t realize how mildly traumatizing it was, so as I go through I'll be toning it down.
> 
> Thanks for reading as always, I hope I don’t scare anyone away with this one. And yes Mettaton will be heavily feature in this . . . but he isn’t such a great guy at the beginning.


	2. Can’t Say No

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet the donut guy who can’t say no. Mild body horror at the very end because WingDings is six years old and can’t deal with having metal parts.

When WingDings eyes gradually adjust to the room he can see that there is actually plenty of light, creeping in from the cracks of the window, the door left ajar and the kitchen clock. Looking at the clock he is surprised to find that it reads four o’clock in the morning. No wonder Miss Muffet didn’t go to bed, her day is just beginning.

Doing his best to rest, WingDings wakes several times to the sound of merry voices and the chime of tiny bells. Noon rolls around and with it the smell of hot tea and biscuits easily rouses the child as his hunger weighs his bones.

“Time to eat deary,” Muffet says, hoisting him up with a thread of magic.

Rubbing his eye sockets, WingDings shuffles to the table and graciously accepts the meal.

“I have good news deary,” Muffet says, giggling musically when WingDings pours nearly all of the sugar and milk into the tea she’s given him. “I found someone who can help you find your family and keep you hidden from the spider stompers.”

It takes a few sips of his tea and several bites of the bagel before WingDings can sign out an answer. “Thank you,” he says before munching some more and somehow managing to ask a question. “Who?”

“I don’t recall his name, but he always buys donuts from me,” she tells him, passing some butter for him. “Never can pass my shop without buying one, Ahuhuhuhu.”

“. . .” WingDings might be young, but even he knows that this method of finding him help is less than assuring. That and most everyone knows better than to walk past her shop without buying something. “He sounds . . . nice.”

“Oh he is,” Muffet assures him. “He’s waiting downstairs for us as soon as we’re finished eating.”

Not wishing to have the food snatched from him before finishing, WingDings stuffs his face, earning a blank stare from Muffet. “Deary, where are your manners?” she chides him.

Swallowing, he slows down, but only marginally. “It’s . . . just really good,” he signs.

This compliment entices a smile, but her eyes squint. “Be careful morsel,” she tells him. “Flattery and patronizing are next door neighbors.”

With pressed lips he bows his head awkwardly, sipping his tea slowly. He has little idea of what she means, but he knows he should probably be quiet.

When they are finished with the modest meal, she gives him a kiss on his smooth skull before standing him in front of a mysterious cat monster.

The cat monster has curly light orange fur and is wearing a grey and purple uniform that is a smidge wrinkly. With a twitch in his curled fingers the feline offers his hand to WingDings which he accepts, noting how sweaty the pad of his paw is.

Scanning the cat’s soul, he finds a gentle spirit albeit a nervous one. “My name is Scats,” he tells WingDings. “I understand you need help getting back home.”

“That’s right sir,” WingDings answers with his voice and hands. The male is familiar, but the child doesn’t recall having properly met him back home. “Where will you be taking me?”

“To a co-worker, he knows everyone on this side of the border,” Scats answers. “He’ll be able to help you.” Standing a little straighter, Scats takes his grey cap and plants it on WingDings head, shifting it for a snug fit. “Looks good on you, son.”

Encouraged by the simple gesture and kind words, the child takes the cats hand and waves back to Muffet. She returns the wave with three hands. “Come again sometime, deary,” she offers as her farewell. He says he’ll be back when he can, looking up to Scats to see the mans wincing grin as he repeats the same.

When they are outside, in the murky grey streets Scats confesses to Wingdings. “I can never say no to her, even if I can’t afford to say yes,” he says as the child studies the cat’s gentle eyes. “But don’t worry son, I’ll do my best not to pawn you off to strangers.”

“Thank you sir,” WingDings says gratefully, forgetting to sign and quickly correcting himself. He is feeling much more comfortable with Mister Scats than Miss Muffet. 

“Your signing is good, is there a reason for it?” the man asks.

“Oh well . . . sometimes people don’t understand me . . .” the child explains sheepishly.

“Really . . . I can understand you just fine,” he replies. “Your voice sounds a bit . . . metallic, but I can understand you.”

“Oh, Miss Muffet didn’t tell me that . . .”

“Perhaps she found it cute,” Scats laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

Nodding in response, WingDings takes the opportunity to look around as they walk the dark but lively shopping district of the slums.

“Where’s the sun?” the child asks looking straight up, but finding he can only see a black cut where the buildings fade away.

A flick of his new caretakers whisker shows his surprise to the question, but the feline glances up and replies. “Oh, well, you can never see the sun from down here in the slums,” he says. “The main part of Metta City is above us. You really aren’t from around here are you? . . . Miss Muffet, made it sound like you were from a completely different world.”

“Yeah,” WingDings answers dumbfounded that Miss Muffet came to that conclusion. He hardly said a word to her. Was she being serious or being playful?

“Do you have any family?” he asks.

“I don’t really know . . .” when the feline’s fluffy brows furrow in concern WingDings quickly elaborates. “I was pulled away rather suddenly, it happened so fast. I was with Sans and Papyrus at the time. Do you know them?”

“Can’t say I’m familiar with those names,” Scats sighs. “I’m horrible with names. But Carl, not him. He never forgets a face. And yeah . . . he’s a bit of a downer sometimes, but he has a good soul. Here hop on.”

They stop in front of a moped and the feline hands the child a helmet. WingDings trades the helmet with his cap, returning it to Scats. With a jittery chuckle, the lanky catman helps WingDings with the helmet before setting him on the back of the bike and sitting in front of him. “Hang onto me.” From there he starts the motor with a kick of his heel and the two set off, weaving between small smokey cars and pedestrians that crowd the street.

As they speed along, WingDings reads the strange signs when he can and stares in awe at the never ending skyscrapers. The buildings just seem to disappear into the grey mist replacing what would be a sky. From time to time he sees a flash of color from the clouds, as if it were lightning. If the motor weren’t so loud, the child would ask his chauffer what the lights are, but for now his questions go unanswered.

After taking a large elevator, crammed with several other run down motor vehicles, they are guided by robots through a garage of some kind. A prick of nervousness travels up WingDings spine when he spots the first robots, but Scats merely removes the coat of his uniform and puts it around the child. None of the robots question Scats as they are waved past iron slabs of concrete and parked vehicles.

When they are parked, Scats picks WingDings up and holds him to his hip. The child fidgets a bit, but Scats reassure him that this is the safest way to get him past the patrols. Putting the cap back on WingDings head, he moves to a gate and turnaround that are made of nothing but bars and wire. Everything is lit up so bright, it stings the child’s eye sockets and he rubs them in an attempt to ease the discomfort as they walk up to the robot police. “Welcome back Mister Scaredy, normal shift?” the robot asks.

Unlike the robots from WingDings flight early in the morning this one is slender and bolted to the booth he is locked inside. The robot doesn’t have any legs, but has four arms and a head with two optical sensors as opposed to one. He isn’t nearly as intimidating as those robots patrolling he encountered early in the morning.

“Yes, and one child’s pass please,” Scats says, keeping WingDings close and his head hidden. “My sister couldn’t find a sitter again.”

“These are hard times,” the robot says conversationally.

“It is, I promise they will be well behaved,” Scats says without batting an eye.

“Here,” the robot hands the feline a grape sucker. “For the little one.”

“Thanks Tebo, you’re the best,” Scats says handing it to WingDings.

Rather than enjoy it straight away, WingDings puts it in the pocket of the oversized jacket to enjoy later. Treats like this you have to savor, especially when in a strange new place.

“Have a good evening,” Tebo says and waves them past the gates. After passing through several turnabouts they take a crowded elevator, a rather uncomfortable trip for WingDings, even is if it short. He doesn’t appreciate being crowded, but at least he’s being held. When the doors open everyone spills out onto a large street, moving as one down the side walk and past the glistening shop windows.

“This is the shopping district,” Scats says as WingDings studies the impressive structures with wide eyes, not bothering to hide his face. “Or . . . at least the shopping district for the elite class that is. They call it Hot Street, since only the hottest styles and names can be found here.”

WingDings wouldn’t know what hot styles or names look like, but he can accept that the place is much brighter and upbeat than the slums. Even with the blazing sun in the west, the lights are turned on, flashing in elaborate patterns to entice shoppers closer, like a bug zapper to a fly. Moving window displays and unique shapes of the buildings themselves buy for WingDings attention as Scats gently laughs at his wonder and delight.

“I probably looked about the same when I first came here myself,” Scats admits when he steps onto a moving sidewalk towards the largest of the buildings. There are shops along the bottom level, even when they glide into the structure, but the rest of it consists of large private apartments. “Feel free to eat that lollipop.”

Taking him up on the offer, the young skeleton unwraps the sucker and plops it into his mouth. Sweet, just the way he likes it, even if grape isn’t his favorite flavor. Readjusting the child, Scats reaches into one of the pockets and pulls out the donut he bought that morning, taking the chance to enjoy the delectable treat. After enjoying the moving sidewalk, they reach the service entrance where Scats weaves through endless hallways until he arrives at an office door with his name on it.

“Have a seat,” Scats says as he takes a seat at a desk that barely fits in the closet sized room. There is room for a locker, desk, one chair and a file cabinet. 

Doing as he’s told, WingDings takes a seat and waits as Scats is about to make a call but snaps his padded fingers abruptly. “I should have you change,” he’s on his feet again and at his locker, rummaging through it. “The boss likes to have everyone matching, even my niece when I’m taking care of her. He’s a generous guy, but . . . a bit eccentric.”

If the word eccentric isn’t enough, WingDings suspicions are confirmed when Scats retrieves a uniform with the key colors of black and purple.

“Is your boss Mettaton?” WingDings eyes go wide and he looks at the door, as if expecting the robot to show up. 

“Oh, yes, so you’ve heard of him,” Scats chuckles. “I’m his driver, take him everywhere from theaters to parties in the Shade. Anywhere and anytime, as long as it is between the hours of fifteen hundred to three in the morning. He keeps me busy.” Shuffling between the desk and wall, Scats hands the child the clothing before moving to the door. I’ll wait outside till you’re changed,” he says politely. “Just leave your clothes on the desk.”

WingDings nods and begins changing even before Scats has completely closed the door, trusting the cat easily and still rather indifferent when changing in front of others at such a young age. As he changes though he looks down and is reminded that his body is different than the one he left at home and while he is expecting the altered arms he is not prepared for the changes to the rest of him.

Taking in a sharp breath, WingDings covers his mouth to keep silent as his soul radiates magic in agitation. Not only are his arms metal, but so are parts of his legs and chest cavity and there are parts that are inside him that are a mystery to him. He has no idea what they are for but they blink and glisten silently at him. Quickly he puts the dress shirt over his head, covering himself in the oversized cloth.

His breath quickens, his magic bleeding from his glowing irises as a sharp beep comes from one of the metallic pieces in his chest. Crying, WingDings dives under the chair as Scats comes bursting back into his office to comfort the overwhelmed boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are there any Undertale stories out there with the donut guy? I couldn’t find any. Makes me want to include minor characters like him in future stories. This weeks chapter is short, mostly because this was a good stopping point before we meet the man of the hour. Thanks for reading as always, see you next week.


	3. Yes Darling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet the metal man of the hour.

As first Scats doesn’t know where the kid went when he comes bursting into the room. “Kid!” Scats calls, his voice cracking as his gaze searches the room. Dropping to his hands and knees, he immediately puts a hand to the child’s spine and rubs it in small circles. “Hey now, son. What’s wrong?”

Sniffing and hiccuping, WingDings rubs at his face furiously, trying to pull himself together. “This is almost as scary as having a fish tail,” he blurts crawling out and into Scats lap who takes the child without question. It hasn’t even been a full day and WingDings is desperate for some normalcy.

“Do you need some help,” Scats asks and when WingDings nods, he helps him get completely dressed. When he is finished, Scats lifts the small mechanical skeleton into the chair, where the child sniffs gently.

Scats kneels down at WingDings level, a hand on his knee as he gazes sadly at the child. A few people pass by the office asking if everything is all right, but the feline assure them it’s all under control. Despite his stutter, they believe him to which WingDings is thankful, finding comfort in Scats confidence.

Breathing normally, the child jumps when Scats phone rings. Answering it promptly, Scats nods his head and says a few “Mmmhmms,” before hanging up and reaching into a drawer. Pulling out a mechanical device of some kind, Scats adjusts his uniform and offers a hand to WingDings.

“Sorry, but it looks like I’ll be calling Carl later,” he apologizes. “Mettaton needs a ride and it’s rude to keep a celebrity waiting. Ready to see more of the city?”

Rubbing his eyes one last time, WingDings allows Scats to pick him up, finding he desires the comfort of being held despite not being a small baby bones anymore. Even so he holds onto Scats tightly.

“You’ve got a nice strong grip their son,” Scats encourages him with a soft smile, balancing him on one hip before locking the door. “Now when you’re in the limo I’ll need you to be on your best behavior. Only speak when spoken to and keep your hands to yourself. Can you do that for me.”

“Yes Mister Scaredy,” WingDings replies earning a surprised expression from his caretaker.

“You remembered my last name,” he says, shaking his head in an impressed manner. “You really are something.”

“Thank you,” WingDings says. “Anything else you want me to do?”

“Hmm let me think,” Scats swiftly makes his way for an elevator and rushes inside it. “Go ahead and press the B2 button.” He leans forward allowing WingDings to push the button making a smile reappear on the child’s once dour face. “You’ll be sitting with Mettaton and his attendant Mister Frederick, along with anyone visiting him today. I can’t have someone as short as you sitting up with me since it wouldn’t be safe.”

“I’ll be sitting with Mettaton?!” WingDings eyes go wide. He’s met the famous man several times, but it’s been a while. His brother is a fan which is the only reason WingDings is excited at all.

“That’s right kiddo, that’s why you need to be on your best behavior,” he says. “Otherwise I’m going to have a hard time explaining to my nieces and nephews why they can no longer sit in the back with Mettaton.”

“I’ll do my very best,” he says.

“I know you will,” Scats playfully tugs WingDings cap further down, earning an open mouthed giggle from the child. “Oh look at those pearly whites, didn’t think I’d ever get to see em.”

WingDings presses his lips together in a shy fashion, but still smiles at the man. When he returns home he wants to meet Scats. He has a feeling he’s just as kind as his counterpart.

As soon as the door of the elevator opens, Scats is rushing up to a purple and black limousine, with a hint of red. Opening the door to the left directly behind the driver, Scats buckles WingDings into a booster seat before getting in himself and starting the limo. “Why doesn’t Mettaton just use a robot to drive him around?” WingDings asks.

“Because that isn’t classy,” Scats answers. “Robots are typically used to enforce the law anyway and Mettaton is partially a robot himself. He worked really hard to get where he is now and doesn’t want to be associated with his robotic counterparts.”

Glancing down at his arms, WingDings has an inkling as to what that might feel like. After all he didn’t think of himself as anything like those cold security bots that were chasing that motorcyclist. The only exception is the small robot from the security gate. He’s different.

“How about Tebo?” WingDings asks, the question out of his mouth as soon as the thought crosses his mind. As they maneuver through the parking garage the child looks around him and finds a few compartments in the back of the limo, a cup holder and a console with three buttons. True to his word though he is careful to keep his arms in his lap and doesn’t touch anything despite the burn of curiosity igniting behind his gaze.

“Tebo is a different kind of robot, one that is developing a soul of his own,” Scats explains.

“How does that happen?” WingDings asks, fascinated by the possibility.

“Well ya see, from what I understand of it. The more he interacts with different souls and the more their souls impact him, the more . . . ‘life’ he receives. Those little piece of people’s souls he’s given will eventually give him enough magic to have his own soul . . . unless the Embassy finds out and has him removed,” Scats sighs, stopping in front of the golden lobby of the apartment complex. “They like to keep control over their robots because once they develop a soul they can’t control em’, they’re just like any other person.”

“That is interesting,” WingDings turns in his seat to look at the back of Scats head. “How is such a thing possible? It’s too bad the Embassy doesn’t like it though. Seems unfair.”

“Well . . . in their minds such a thing should never have been possible,” Scats explains, now drawn into the conversation as seen as he crams his head to glace back at the boy. “But the creator of the bots was a smart one, he knew they had the potential and helped it along. Told people how it worked and gave hope to people.”

“Who is he,” WingDings asks in delight.

“Ah, he’s . . . well he was . . .” Scats trails off and puts a hand to his chin. “That’s strange. I can’t remember his name . . . I think he was Doctor Laster or P.D. something or other. Ha, you’d think I’d at least remember his name.”

“Do you remember my name?” WingDings asks curious.

The cat breaks out in a nervous sweat and laughs sheepishly. “W-was it Ling?” he asks sheepishly.

Smiling innocently WingDings shakes his head and laughs. “Nope.”

“FlingaLing?”

“Close,” the child laughs.

“I’m so sorry son, you must think me horrible,” Scats shakes his head, ashamed.

“It’s WingDings Gaster,” he answers the kind driver.

“WingDings, that’s right,” Scats says lightly hitting the steering wheel. “And it’s such a unique name too.”

“Thanks,” the child answers, most of his classmates don’t agree, but they’re stupid. Before WingDings can ask another question a buzzing sound signals Scats.

Getting out of the limo the tall monster opens the door in the far back allowing Mettaton and his attendant to climb inside. The secretary, a tall dark human with tight curly hair gives WingDings a warm smile as soon as he sees the child. Seconds later he pulls out a tablet which looks like a slab of dark glass and gets to work when Mettaton slides into the back seat after him, waving to a small crowd. The robot super star looks different from the mechanical man WingDings is familiar with.

The robot monster is in his Ex form, or at least this worlds version of it. The dominate colors are black and purple with a flash of neon yellow accenting his hair, eyes, and visible metal skin pieces. He’s wearing leather clothing, mostly black in color, which surprises the child since he didn’t think clothing was really necessary for Mettaton.

After his initial inspection though the first thing he notices is the familiar tug of his soul when he is near another piece. His sockets widen as he looks the man in the eye.

Mettaton freezes for half a second before flashing the child a charming grin. “Oh, Frederick, look at the precious darling who is joining us today,” Mettaton says, crossing one leg over his knee and comfortably draping his hands in his lap. Beside the car, Scats shuts the door and moves to the driver’s seat. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting darling. What’s your name?”

“WingDings Gaster, Mettaton sir,” WingDings manages to say, clasping his hands rigidly in his own lap.

The words are barely out of his mouth before Mettaton is answering. “Oh my, what a name,” Mettaton says patting his lap and sharing a look with his assistant. A look that can mean anything, but is enough to make WingDings defensive.

WingDings eye lights bounce between the men, his brows knit forward. Wiggling a bit in his booster seat, the child makes no motion to respond and is no longer smiling.

Mettaton gasps and gives the child a shake of his head. “Darling, where did your precious smile go? You’re nothing without it. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, honest I didn’t,” the automaton apologizes. “I just haven’t heard that name in a very long time.”

Everyone in the car gives Mettaton a shocked glance, with the exception of perhaps Scats who can only flick an ear back quickly before returning his attention onto the road.

“You’ve heard the name?” Frederick asks, setting his device down on his knee as he glances at his boss.

Rather than answer immediately, the metal man rubs his slick fingers along his palm as his perfect smile freezes awkwardly in place. “I know many names darling,” he finally says, sitting back more comfortably, appearing relaxed. “I have an impeccable memory.”

“Do I need to add him to your contacts?” Frederick asks, flicking through his screens and searching for the name.

“Goodness, there’s no need for that, it’s a personal acquaintance,” he answers. “It’s best his name remains off the records.” The man winks at WingDings, an action that only confuses the child.

Frederick shrugs his shoulders and doesn’t push the issue, simply flipping through his screens and playing solitaire for all WingDings knows.

“You don’t look to be related to my favorite chauffeur, family friend Mister Scaredy?” Mettaton calls to the driver.

“Yes sir, I have trouble saying no,” Scats answers with a cracking chuckle.

“Which is just the sort of man I want driving me to the Shade after my interview with Mister Barls,” Mettaton says. The celebrity is cut off when he hears the familiar cries of his adoring fans while they’re stopped at a street corner. Rolling down a window, Mettaton blows them a kiss earning a chorus of screams from the men and women on the sidewalk. “You’re all looking gorgeous today Darlings,” he calls to them before traffic clears and they’re coasting along again.

During the exchange WingDings takes the opportunity to check Mettaton’s soul and while it doesn’t appear evil it’s much brighter than the Mettaton he knows, making it difficult to read clearly. The child puts a hand to his chest, a familiar tightness gripping his soul from sitting so close to a piece. When his eyes move up to the robots face he sucks in a breath realizing that Mettaton’s eyes are studying him intently.

Caught, WingDings immediately looks down at his metallic hands only to clutch them and look up moments later with a red tint in his eye lights. Mettaton has something that belongs to him and he is determined to get it back. “Mettaton sir,” WingDings asks boldly.

“Yes Darling,” Mettaton lifts his arms resting them along the back of the leather seat.

“You have something that belongs to me,” WingDings says sharply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t give Mettaton permission to do this but he pretty much just revealed my entire plot for this story and I just started this thing. Scats too, he isn’t innocent either. Thanks for reading, I appreciate it as always.


	4. He Said No

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe the donut guy can say no. Also Burgie gets a short scene in this chapter.

The child can just make out the sound of Scats gripping the fine leather of the steering wheel and can imagine the sweat beading on the feline’s brow as WingDings asks Mettaton such a brazen question. Cars zoom by, blaring music fizzling past as they go, and the gentle hum of the air conditioner churns away, but no one says a word in the vehicle as the child’s question sits unanswered.

After all what could Mettaton have that belongs to a six year old?

“But of course darling!” Mettaton exclaims taking everyone off guard, even his secretary, who fidgets at such forced glee. “I’ve given all of my young fans an autograph, why would you be any different.” Reaching into one of the compartments beneath his seat, Mettaton removes a trendy button and signs it. When his signature is complete he blows onto the glistening plastic and extends his mechanical arm so WingDings can easily take it.

The boy is too dumbfounded to even attempt grabbing the offered button so Mettaton simply uses his other hand to extend the child’s metal palms out so he doesn’t drop it in the boys lap. “Congratulation, I only give that button to my most devoted fans.”

As WingDings stares at the gift, he slowly grips it, nearly crushing the thin metal and plastic button in his hand as if it were a thin sheet of paper. “This isn’t . . .”

“WingDings!” Scats barks, cutting the child off immediately with his berating tone. “That’s enough son.” He says more calmly, but with just as much authority. “I’m sorry, sir, he’s normally a polite child.”

“Now Now Mister Scaredy, there is nothing to apologize for. Young WingDings has had a very long day I’m sure and it isn’t everyday one meets an idol as fabulous as I,” Mettaton replies, while a pool of red blinds WingDings sight. As the car comes to a slow halt at an intersection, the child squeezes the strap of his seat with a vice grip that nearly shreds the fabric. His cheeks burn red and he doesn’t dare look up even as Mettaton offers him a friendly smile.

When Scats comes around the car to open the door, WingDings opens his mouth to speak but is cut off when Mettaton beats him to it. “I’ll be seeing you soon W.D. Gaster,” the man says calmly. “But now is not the time or place.”

Once again WingDings is easily beat, baffled by the strange way he’s been addressed. The child fumes and frets in his seat as Frederick looks between them suspiciously. The door opens and with it out goes a piece of WingDings soul making the child whine in discomfort and frustration at the uncomfortable pull within his ribs. Outside the car he can hear Scats apologize again profusely for his behavior filling WingDings with shame. He likes Mister Scaredy and doesn’t want to disappoint the kind man.

But he doesn’t think Mettaton deserve his best behavior.

WingDings doesn’t pay much attention to the grownups conversation, but it is enough to make the child wish he couldn’t hear them as he hugs his knees to his chest.

“Take him to my apartment, here’s the key,” Mettaton’s voice clips, waking WingDings from his misery.

“But sir. . .”

“You’ll have enough time to get there and back without trouble darling,” Mettaton’s voice drops and WingDings actually lifts himself to look out the window. He sees that Mettaton is facing the limo and Frederick is nowhere to be seen. “That child is very special and shouldn’t be out and about in the public’s eye.”

“Sir . . .” the male cat trembles a bit as he looks through the tinted window where he knows WingDings is sitting and watching. “Yes, I confess he’s . . . more than he seems, but I’m taking care of it.”

“Oh yes, darling and you’re doing an excellent job, but you won’t be able to help that child,” Mettaton says point blank.

“Mettaton sir,” Scats stands a little taller and as firmly as his nervous jitters allows him he continues. “I can’t in good . . .”

“What’s his name,” Mettaton asks.

“Sir . . . what. . .”

“What is the child’s name?” the metallic man calmly asks.

“You know I’m terrible with names sir,” Scats sighs.

“Not as terrible as you think,” Mettaton replies. “There is a reason you keep forgetting and that is why you need to leave him at the apartment. For his safety and yours. I’ve said more than is necessary darling, be a good chauffeur and take care of this for me.” Having spoken his mind Mettaton leaves for the large backstage area of the building and disappears.

Numbly, Scats returns to his seat and shuts the door behind him. He doesn’t say anything at first, not even starting the car, which makes WingDings shift in his seat. Normally WingDings doesn’t mind silence, but this feels different. “I’m sorry sir,” he says. “I didn’t do as I was told.”

Leaning back, Scats looks back at WingDings and buckles his seat belt. “Yeah, well,” Scats starts the car and moves through the garage out towards the street. “We’ve all done things we regret.”

“Are you taking me to his apartment?” WingDings asks nervously. If this were the Mettaton he knew from his world he’d be ecstatic, but this version of him isn’t quite as kind.

“Do you want me too?” Scats sounds shocked but quickly continues speaking before allowing WingDings the opportunity to answer that. “No, wait don’t answer that. I’ll just do whatever you ask and I shouldn’t do that to a child. I’m gunna take you straight to Carl.” He nods his head resolutely as he turns onto a highway and speeds up a little. “If I take the side streets I should get there and back with time to spare,” he presses a button on the dash and speaks a command. “Carl.”

“Thanks for calling the MTT-Brand Burger Emporium, home of the Glamburger. This is Burgie, what can I do for you today Mister Mettaton?” a chipper voice sings on the other end of the speaker phone.

“It’s Scats Carl, just Scats, I’m sorry this is such short notice, but I need you to do something for me,” Scats says beads of sweat trickling down his fine fur.

“God, Scats, what did you say ‘yes’ to this time?” gone is the happy and light tone of patience as it is replaced with resigned irritation. “If you keep saying yes to people you’ll end up like me . . . wasting your life away.”

“It’s a kid who’s lost his family,” Scats explains completely ignoring Carl’s self loathing. Looking to his left the cat turns off the highway and onto another street decorated with flashing lights and giant moving billboards. One of the billboards shows something that makes WingDings feel uncomfortable and he quickly turns away to look at his hands. He didn’t really notice the billboards before, but it is twilight now, so they are easier to see. “Muffet found him in a bind with the police,” Scats continues. “And she asked me to take him.”

“And why does this have to be my problem,” Carl grumbles.

“Because you know everyone in this city and I know you have a caring soul,” Scats says with a smile in his voice.

“Peh,” Carl huffs, but doesn’t comment. “Fine, fill me in on the details when you get here.” There is a click and the cab becomes silence.

WingDings lets the silence continue, feeling that breaking it would be more uncomfortable than he feels already. They stop in front of a modest sized Burger joint, made to look like an old 50’s diner, with tube neon lights and rounded edges except the colors are a bit more obtrusive than what one might find in the 1950’s. When Scats steps out of the limousine the child looks through the glowing windows of the eatery and wonders what Carl is like. He seems kind, but he won’t know for sure until he meets him.

And why did he introduce himself as Burgie if his name is Carl?

As Scats helps him out of the vehicle he takes his hand without question and follows at his side. It doesn’t once strike the child as odd that monsters keep passing him off to others. He can only remember two worlds he’s been too, but in both he was passed off to different people until he found what he was looking for.

It would be nice to have a home like Shyren gave him and maybe Carl can provide it. Home is constant, but when hopping into new worlds nothing is constant for long.

“Hello Carl,” Scats says as he walks into the restaurant. Glancing around the dominant colors are yellow and lighter yellow, along with some hints of black and purple. These colors do not match in WingDings opinion. Well, it is a MTT brand franchise so black and purple are probably mandatory. The facility isn’t too busy, just a few people sitting on stools at the counter and three families eating in the booths.

“Welcome Scats, come round back,” Carl calls from behind the swinging doors.

Sliding along the counter and lifting a swinging portion of it up, WingDings and Scats shuffle by and into the kitchen area, out of the public’s direct eye sight. “Hey little buddy,” the monster WingDings assumes is Carl says, offering the child a paw. “Names Carl, but uh, I guess Scats is one of the few who still calls me that.”

WingDings looks from his hand to his soul and only when he verifies his kindness does he accept the friendly greeting. Carl is also a cat monster, but unlike Scats he isn’t nearly as tall and has a more natural brown fur color. There are dark lines under his eyes and his smile is stiff, as if it’s stuck there with clips pulling at the corners. Despite these offsetting traits the child isn’t bothered and smiles back at him with bright eyes.

He’s meet Carl/Burgie before after all.

“My name is WingDings,” the child says before releasing his paw.

“WingDings huh? Never heard that name before,” Carl admits. “You really must be new around here, little buddy.”

“So you haven’t heard of him. . .” Scats shoulders sag and he lifts a pawed hand to rub the back of his neck.

“Uh, hey, just because I don’t know his name, don’t mean I don’t know someone he knows . . . ya know,” Carl says, his smile twitches a bit as he tries to remain positive for Scats benefit.

Pressing his lips together, WingDings facial features twist as if he smells something funny and if he had more than a tine nasal ridge on his face he’s be scrunching it.

“Thanks Carl, well I’ve got to go before Mettaton figures out what I’ve done,” Scats kneels down in front of WingDings.

“Wow, wait already? But ya just . . .”

The overworked cat is cut off when Scats puts a hand to WingDings shoulder and gives him a warm smile. “You’re in good paws son, he’ll help you get all this sorted,” Scats says. “I know we just met but you’re a special kid, don’t think I’ll ever forget ya’ no matter what Mettaton says.”

“What? What did the boss say?” Carl asks, clenching his fists at his side. “No wait, I don’t want to know.” He leans against the counter, nearly missing it with his elbow as he tries to relax.

Leaning forward WingDings gives Scats a hug which the monster graciously returns. “I hope you find your family son, stay safe,” he says and with a swish of the door, the tall cat is gone.

Behind him Carl sighs heavily, sagging forward as if he is weighed down by loads of bricks stacked on his back. “Well, little buddy, I’ve got work to do. Running this burger joint all by myself at the moment, but my shift will end in an hour . . . if I’m lucky,” the smile Carl flashes is anything but comfortable. WingDings merely assumes his face is somehow broken. “Want a MettaShake?”

WingDings nods eagerly and doesn’t forget his manners. “Yes please, but I don’t have any G,” he admits.

“G?” Carl asks in bafflement of the term.

“Credits,” WingDings amends after a pause, remembering what Muffet told him earlier.

“Hey, buddy don’t worry about it, I’ll just make Scats pay for it,” Carl says moving through the doors and motioning for WingDings to follow.

Wincing a bit, WingDings takes a seat on one of the stools feeling a little bad that Scats will have to pay for the MettaShake.

“Wow, hey buddy what’s wrong?”

“I feel bad taking Scats money,” he bites his lip, debating over his guilt and his hunger.

“Look little buddy, somebody has to pay for it and it’s either Scats or me,” Carl says. “A young kid like you shouldn’t have to pay for it and you shouldn’t starve either.” Glancing around at the clientele, the fast food worker flicks his nose as he debates with himself. He puts the glass in front of WingDings who doesn’t move for it.

“It’ll melt if you don’t drink it, then I’d be wasting a perfectly good milkshake,” Carl tells him with a grin that shows more teeth than is necessary.

This easily convinces WingDings, even with the creepy smile, and he sips up the cold drink happily. His feet bob back and forth on the stool, hitting the metal bar at the center, but he stops the repetitive motion when the clanging noise starts to bother him.

He finishes the milkshake and waits at the stool patiently as Carl continues to serve the guests who pass into the burger joint for the next half hour. Carl doesn’t ask WingDings any questions, but instead gives the child a burger and fries when one of his customers refuses to eat it, claiming it’s not ‘Metta’ enough. Glad for the free meal, WingDings and Carl easily forgive the rude man, finding the meal is put to better use in the child’s stomach.

Since Carl is careful not to ask WingDings any questions he instead fills the silence by talking about himself. He talks about how he got his name Burgie, how he got his job, his failure of a dream and his friends who aren’t his friends? It’s a little confusing to WingDings, but it’s evident that Carl is a good soul and that some people take advantage of his hard work.

“Never let hot people think you care. That’s how they get you,” Carl tells him at one point. “Just smile and nod and agree with everything they tell you and when . . .”

He’s cut off when the phone rings at the register. Grumbling something under his breath, but still smiling, Carl clicks the head set at his ear allowing the call to go through. He glances sidelong at a screen on his wrist which displays the caller as he answers. “Thanks for calling the MTT-Brand Burger Emporium, home of the Glamburger. This is Burgie, what can I do for you today Mister Mettaton?”

The words and tone are exactly the same from the time when WingDings was in the car and he stares at Carl in awe. His smile is as stiff as ever but after a second or two it begins to twitch.

“He hung up . . .” Carl stares out the window, looking out at something and studying it as if it were a calculus problem that would appear on his next test. Bothered by the cats glazed stare, WingDings glances behind him and out the window, verifying that nothing is there.

“Little Buddy . . . I think you should come round back all right?” Carl says, removing the basket of fries from in front of him and tossing it aside. Sensing the monsters unease, despite the practiced smile, the child does as he is told, simply walking under the counter where it’s hinged rather than wait for Carl to move it aside for him. He’s short enough to easily pass under it without even ducking.

“Okay buddy give it to me straight,” Carl says once he’s passed into the cramped kitchen. “Is Mettaton someone Scats wanted you to avoid?”

“Yes, I don’t know why, but Mettaton wanted Mister Scaredy to bring me to the apartment when he found out I was . . . lost,” WingDings answers. With a quick nod, Carl walks toward a door down the narrow walkway and WingDings follows. The room says ‘office’ which Carl swiftly opens. “Even though Mettaton ordered Mister Scaredy to do it, he brought me here instead.”

“Wait really?” Carl laughs gruffly and pulls out a cigarette, but thinks better of it and puts it back in his pocket. “Can’t believe that guy actually disobeyed a direct request, that’s unheard of from him! I’m kinda proud of the old guy. Maybe there’s hope for me yet.” 

“But isn’t it wrong?” WingDings asks. “Isn’t Mettaton his boss?”

“Well, yeah,” Carl says, bending down a little to look WingDings in the eye socket. The child backs up a little uncomfortably, making Carl stand upright again so the boy is more comfortable. “Mettaton is a big time star! I mean have you seen this gaudy place? It’s just . . .” he teeters off and grumbles something around his smile. “Look buddy, it just smells all kinds of bad. Worse than the grease trap after rush hour.”

The bell out front chimes once, followed by a chorus of thrilled voices. Carl moves for the exit. “Don’t leave this room got it,” and he shuts the door. 

Jumping a bit at the abrupt smash of the door, the child moves towards it and instantly cracks it open, uncomfortable with the idea of being in a room all by himself.

And he’s curious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I’m probably making Mettaton look like a really really bad guy here based on his employees reactions, but it’s not as horrible as they’re making it out to be. They work for the guy after all. Thanks for reading~


	5. Just a Child

“Mister Mettaton, welcome to the MTT-Brand Burger Emporium, home of the Glamburger. I’m _your_ ever faithful employee Burgie, what can I do for you today?” For the most part the employee’s spiel remains unchanged, but WingDings has heard it enough times now to catch the slight difference in how Carl refers to himself.

WingDings waits eagerly just on the other side of the office door, shifting from one leg to the other. Luckily, his fear is just enough to keep his curiosity at bay, sweeping away the urge to wander and watch them to be dealt with another day.

“It’s good to see you Mister Burgie,” the charming metallic voice of Mettaton answers over the clamor of his adoring fans. “I’m here for a takeout order.”

“. . . I’ll get right on it sir,” the rustle of Carl’s clothing shows just how eager he is to get away.

“Oh there’s no need darling, this will only take a second.” The distinct creak of the hinged counter moving up isn’t missed by WingDings as he tightens his grip on the doors handle.

“Sir, that’s quite all right,” Carl quickly says. “No need for you to get the food ready, it’s my job after all.”

“Mister Burgie whatever is the matter?” the voice comes close to the office door and WingDings removes his hand from the handle to take a step back. There’s no point to closing and locking it. The metal man obviously knows where he is going. “Are you trying to hide something from me? That is adorable.”

A familiar buzz of red fills WingDings as he lifts his eyes to where he knows Mettaton will be standing. When the door opens the famous metal monster is met with the sight of a determined six year old who has his eye lights locked on the adults soul.

“There you are child,” Mettaton says, sliding a hand onto his slick hip as he addresses WingDings. “Thank you Mister Burgie for watching over him in my absence, but I’ll take it from here.”

“Sir, I was going to take him to his family when I was done with my shift,” Carl explains, his tight smile showing just a bit of his gnashing teeth.

“Ha ha ha! Oh, Burgie, darling, I can assure you I am the closest family he has at the moment,” Mettaton answers him confidently. “And while this is a beautiful act I would prefer not being as cast as the villain. Oh yes, I see how it was meant to play out. Mister Scaredy, the friend to all children, would sneak the poor innocent child away from a glamorous villain, and in his very own car no less! And then, once the child was safe with his dear friend, he’d return to work with his boss none the wiser. By the time the rich and beautiful child napper found out, Mister Burgie would have found the child’s home, once more reunited with his wonderful family. Really it is a beautiful story!”

At this point Carl looks as if he is about to hang himself while WingDings looks up with his determination faltering, confused by the dramatic tale Mettaton is weaving.

“Oh yes, don’t think I didn’t know what you two were up to. Sadly this dramatic tale is filled with several glaring flaws,” Mettaton sighs. “For how could I, Mettaton, idol of this spectacular city, loved and cherished by all, play the part of a villain?”

“We never said you were sir, but . . .”

“And second of all, I doubt very much that you would be able to find this child’s family, not with you forgetting his name every five minutes,” Mettaton sighs as if it really is a bother.

“If I forgot about him I wouldn’t be trying to keep you out of my office,” Carl mutters. But he’s still smiling.

“He certainly does have a presence,” Mettaton concedes. “But for the sake of proving a point, what is this poor child’s name?”

“Little buddy?”

WingDings feels as if an iron ball has dropped from his chest and is dangling beneath his ribs. If he had a stomach he’d claim it had fallen out of him. With large eye lights, he gazes up at the cat he’d only just met as if he’d known him for longer. Why did it hurt so much not to hear his name from these strangers?

The wide sad eyes are enough to make Carl flinch and a frown actually tugs aggressively at one corner of his lips.

Searching for some kind of validation, WingDings looks up at Mettaton. The metal man isn’t looking at WingDings, but at Carl with a thoughtful expression. There is no hint of a smile on his shiny perfectly molded lips or in his glowing neon eyes, even when he turns to look back down at WingDings he remains solemn.

“I’m running a tight schedule darling, so we really must be going,” he tells the child who looks as if he’s about to cry. “It’s time we returned to the apartment. There is so much we need to talk about. . . The party in the Shade will just have to survive without me. It won’t be the same, but I know where my duty lies. Come.”

With a smooth pivot of his hip, Mettaton saunters through the narrow storage area and kitchen expecting WingDings to follow obediently.

But he doesn’t, he just stands there staring after the metal man feeling detached. This isn’t the first time he’s had to follow after someone today, but it is very late and he’s reached his limit. His determination is momentarily out of reach as he stares after the automaton with stiff rigidness nailing him to the spot. He feels a little sick watching a piece of his soul walk away from him again.

He doesn’t once consider taking the piece of hi soul by force, feeling rather numb to the thought of being forgotten.

“M-Mister Mettaton, sir,” WingDings speaks up causing Mettaton to turn. His metallic brow arches upward in surprise, no doubt wondering why the child has fallen so far behind. Close by Carl doesn’t stir, his eyes the only thing on his body moving as he looks between the two. “Just give it to me . . . then I can just . . . leave.” He can be done with this world. He can go back home and get back to a birthday party celebrating him.

Rather than stay in a world where no one can seem to get his name right.

Planting his hands on both of his hips, Mettaton rolls his eyes and sighs with irritation. “If only it were that simple darling. I would if . . .” a boisterous devotee calls out to him from the front, cutting him off from saying more. In an instant Mettaton’s smile has returned as he swings open one of the doors and waves to a cascade of hollers and screams greeting him. “Oooh Yes! Thank you so much everyone! You really are the best fans a star like me could ever ask for.” He cuts off and looks at Carl pointedly. “Take him out back to the car Mister Burgie.” With that he passes through the doors and into the diner, practically singing to his entourage.

“Well little buddy?” Carl asks and WingDings winces at hearing the nick name. “It’s up to you. I could sneak you out back before he gets through the crowd? You don’t have to go with him if you don’t want to.”

Offered with such a choice WingDings sucks in a breath and attempts to consider the felines suggestion. In the end he doesn’t really feel like he has much of choice, he never really did, not so long as Mettaton holds a piece of his soul. All the six year old wants is his soul back. “Could you contact someone for me?” WingDings asks. Struck with an idea, WingDings moves over to the desk and tries to find a piece of paper or a pencil, but it only has a computer like device. “I’ll write down their names for you.”

“Sure buddy,” Carl says, moving forward and flicking on the device. “Go ahead and type it in.”

Very slowly, WingDings writes out Papyrus and Sans names followed by a simple note saying ‘Gaster wants to see you.’ The child isn’t sure if his name is cursed, but he hopes he’ll have better luck using the name ‘Gaster’. As he saves the note, the computer fizzles and blinks, causing WingDings to hold his breath. He doesn’t want something else to lose his name and his eyes flash red with determination. The screen turns black for two seconds, but when it pops back up the note remains intact.

“Goodbye Mister Carl, thank you for the food,” WingDings says with a blaze of achievement.

“No problem Little Buddy,” the cat says with a tired smile still nailed to his face. “Wish I could do more.”

“Well . . . there is one more thing,” the boy says as he leaves the room with Carl beside him.

“Thanks for calling the MTT-Brand Burger Emporium, home of the Glamburger. This is Burgie,” Carl repeats with a snide grin. “What can I do for you today Little Buddy?”

“You can make Mettaton pay for my food,” WingDings answers, a crafty smile pinching the corners of his lips as he suppresses a giggle.

Not a second later Carl is cracking up at the kid’s request, forced to lean against one of the shelves as he lets all his tension out. “Ya know kid,” he says once he’s able to speak somewhat coherently. “I’ll do just that.”

With an impish smile cracking his mouth, WingDings allows Carl to escort him to the limousine where Scats is waiting for him. As soon as the heavy door cranks open the tall feline’s head snaps up, a look of sadness filling his eyes when he sees WingDings walking down the steps into the alley.

“It’s good to see you again Mister Scats,” WingDings says, clutching his hands behind his back as he gazes up at the cat with a brave expression. Seeing the first kind face he’s meet in this world again gives him confidence.

“It’s good to see you too, son,” Scats says trying to smile. Swallowing hard he walks to Carl, his smile nearly just as forced as his shorter feline friend. He takes the overworked fast food employee by the shoulder and guides him a few steps away. “We can’t do this.”

“Why is it now of all the times that you decide to grow a backbone?” Carl complains. “What choice do we have Scats? Mettaton is gunna get the kid no matter what we do and he seems okay with it.”

“He’s a child,” Scats hisses, his tone clipped and barely caging back his anger. His fur is glistening with sweat, or perhaps it is the precipitation of the evening air. The droplets glisten in the evening lights as he is shaking furiously. “This shouldn’t be his choice at all! Decisions like this shouldn’t be left to children, not when it could put him in danger.”

Puffing up his chest, WingDings eyes glow red. “I’m not in danger,” he snaps. The two adults he’s spent the day with share a look that WingDings recognizes as belittling, making him angry.

“Oh yes, just what I want to see when entering a dark alley. The drama, the tension . . . it’s quite lacking sadly. I would say that ‘I hoped I wasn’t interrupting anything,’ but it is clear to that end there is nothing here to interrupt.” Mettaton says as he steps up to the limousine. Behind him there is a small crowd, but the monsters and humans snapping photos are keeping a respectful distance away, many walking away with autographs on special items . . . or themselves. “Mister Scaredy darling I’d like to retire for the evening,” he opens the side door and motions for WingDings to step inside and get into the car seat.

Confidently, WingDings steps into the seat and allows Mettaton to buckle him in, determined to prove himself. As Mettaton shuts the door, Scats and Carl exchange a few unheard words before Scats moves into the driver’s seat and Mettaton into the back. Close by the human secretary Frederick is doodling away on a screen with a frown on his face and a dip in his brow.

“I don’t like this Mister Mettaton, not one bit,” Scaredy Scats complains as he slams the door shut and starts the vehicle.

“Oh yes, it’s quite obvious to me where your loyalties lie, but I am not at all offended,” Mettaton informs his frustrated chauffeur. “This change in character, is to be expected. After all you have always taken great care of children it was natural for you to be drawn to this lost soul. I’m sure your original reasons were because you simply couldn’t refuse, but the child grew on you . . . in more ways than one.” The metal automaton smiles smugly, draping his long arms on the back seat as if he’s figured out the secrets to the universe.

WingDings does not appreciate the mechanical souls demeanor and refuses to look at him.

“It’s more than that,” Scats states, his ears flicking heatedly. “He needs someone to . . .”

“That is truer than you know,” Mettaton cuts him off. “You see before today I doubt you’ve told anyone the words ‘no’ before. But what’s more, you even would go so far as to lie. Go behind your employers back, deliberately disobeying him and displaying a strange amount of determination.”

That nervous sweat returns, trickling down the felines back.

“Yes, that’s right,” Mettaton says. “There just so happens to be such a soul sitting directly behind you whose soul is held together with such a trait.”

“But my determination is my own,” WingDings blurts out. “I need it to survive.”

“That is very true darling,” Mettaton says, crossing a leg comfortably over his knee. “But some of that determination, the glue of your soul, your magic, it affects those around you. Just the tiniest bit. Every time you interact with someone you leave a piece of yourself behind. And you have plenty of determination to share.”

As WingDings listens to the robotic man, really listens, he finds some of his explanation to be familiar. “Is it the same magic that gives robots a soul?” WingDings asks.

For the first time that night Mettaton displays some surprise as his smile flattens into something contemplative. “That is correct,” he answers.

“You’ll be able to say no to Miss Muffet’s baked goods,” WingDings tells Scats proudly.

The feline cannot help but offer a warbled chuckle. “That’s the least of my concerns right now, son” he says. “I’d rather use your gift of determination to help you find your family.”

“I . . . I do want to return to my family,” WingDings confesses. “But you won’t be able to find them Mister Scats.”

Across from him, Mettaton cups his chin thoughtfully and muses. “You are quite the influential soul W.D. Gaster, more than I anticipated,” his eyes flick to Frederic and one of his eyes blinks yellow. “Is something wrong with your tablet darling?”

“I . . . I was simply looking up the name W.D. Gaster but, all I’m getting is an error message,” he confesses.

“Ha, well of course you can’t find anything, he doesn’t exist,” Mettaton sighs, rolling his eyes.

“Hey! That’s not true!” WingDings shouts, clutching his chair and breaking the plastic corners off it with his metal hands. Shocked by his strength, the child quickly tries to put the pieces back, realizing just as quickly that trying to fix it is pointless. “I’m sorry Mettaton sir.”

“Oh, don’t fret darling,” Mettaton waves a hand. “I’ll simply have another brought in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did my best to make this exposition dump entertaining and the drama is a bit higher here than I like, but I guess that just makes it realistic. Originally this scene with Burgie never took place since WingDings went straight to Mettaton’s apartment, but I feel a lot better having this scene and feel like I know the characters and world better for it. As always thanks for reading.


	6. Fashion Disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mettaton tries to make 6 year old fashionable.

What happens next is a bit of a blur to WingDings. He remembers trying to say goodbye again to Scats, but the feline insists they will be seeing each other soon. After that Frederick takes him by the hand and is led to an elevator, taking him to a floor where they then have to take another elevator with a special key where it opens to a hall with only one door.

A long process just to get into one apartment WingDings thinks. This entire time WingDings wrestles with his anger, becoming silent and contemplative as they go along.

With a flick of his wrist Mettaton opens the door revealing a luxurious penthouse. The floor plan is large and spacious, with the dining room, kitchen and living area all stretched out before him, separated only by decorative short walls or steps artistically placed. On the far end of the room are large slanted windows looking out on a sparkly city which would outshine the stars in the sky if they could be seen.

But stars cannot compete with the brilliance of the City.

“Well, the first thing we have to fix is that outfit of yours,” Mettaton babbles, placing a finger beneath his chin as he looks WingDings up and down critically. “While it is perfect for an outing, it is hardly suitable for a child under my care and protection.” WingDings huffs and tries to speak up, but Mettaton interrupts him. “Frederick darling, I’m sure the packages have arrived, will you please open the boxes and prepare them. I won’t sleep till I’m satisfied.”

As Fredrick leaves the room Mettaton gives the child his undivided attention.

“Please do have a seat,” Mettaton motions to the large living space and WingDings wonders just which one of the plush couches and cushions he’s suppose to sit on. As he tries to decide where to sit he becomes distracted by the largest wall in the space where a giant screen is mounted, with large elaborate plants framing it. These are the first healthy plants WingDings has seen since coming to this world and it instantly grabs his attention.He wants to touch them and make sure they’re real.

“I’m sure you have questions. Far too many to be answered in one evening so I will tell you what you need to know. Get this over with quickly you understand.” As the robot soul speaks, WingDings wanders to one of the plants and touches its green leaf, which has vibrant veins of red running along its stem and tip. “I do hope you are listening because I rarely repeat myself.”

After glaring at the plant, WingDings swiftly turns with his hands clasped behind his back, giving the metallic man his full attention. Adults really do like it when you at them, but you don’t need your eyes to listen unless you’re speaking in hands. Adults can be stupid sometimes.

“That is much better,” he compliments the child while taking a seat on a cushion. He rests his legs to the side, showing off his boots and folds both hands casually in his lap. “Listen, darling, I realize you are upset. Needlessly so, but still an appropriate feeling for one your age. It’s all quite dramatic. A small boy far from home, finding a piece of his shattered soul, only to be denied when he finally finds it. It is a real shame I can’t make a musical out of it. Imagine the ratings. The shock, the suspense. But any camera put on you would die. Fizzle out without a shred of evidence. And no one would remember your name. What kind of show has a main protagonist without a name?” 

“It’s tragic,” he continues to babble. “But it is what it is. With no theatrical profit you must be curious as to why I insist on keeping this piece of your soul. While it would be anticlimactic to simply hand it over, I have my reasons. I need this piece of your soul. I need it so desperately to help you. To get to the other piece of your soul.”

WingDings eyes go wide, captivated by this grand storyteller. While Mettaton is certainly selfish and egocentric he is also good at what he does. He is an entertainer and a storyteller of the utmost talent.

“That’s right, little W.D. Gaster, there are two pieces of your so called soul in this city . . . This is how it’s going to work.” Mettaton says, studying one of his hands. “With the piece I possess, I will help you find and obtain the other piece. When I have them both, I will return them to you. And you will see your family again.”

Rubbing the pad of his foot into the shaggy rug beneath his shoe, WingDings nervously glances at the floor while clutching his hands behind him.

“That is very kind of you?” WingDings says with uncertainty. It all sounds very logically, but he isn’t comfortable with Mettaton making all these decisions for him. And he doesn’t think Mettaton is nice enough to do all the things he’s just promised.

“Isn’t it though!” Mettaton answers proudly. “Surely with my talents and your determination we will be unstoppable.”

“You’ll help me?” WingDings asks again. He wants to be sure, but Mettaton’s explanation is awfully . . . vague on the details and he can’t tell if the man is lying or not. All he knows is what Mettaton has shown of himself so far and the six year old doesn’t like it.

“Of course darling, that’s what I’ve been saying from the start,” the metal man sighs.

WingDings frowns, unimpressed.

“Come with me W.D. Gaster,” Mettaton takes the child by the shoulder and guides him to a hall. Rather than fight it, the small skeleton looks to the left where the windows continue, gazing at the twinkling lights. On the right they pass several halls and doors which Mettaton explains as they pass them by, but WingDings isn’t really paying attention as he studies the grey city with it’s tiny sparks of competing light. 

“This hall leads to the guest bathrooms and guest rooms, strictly for parties, celebrity guests and dramas,” Mettaton laughs at a joke that only he understands. “I wouldn’t want such emotional baggage to wandering anywhere near my domain. This door leads to the workout center and theaters which are used by yours truly and only my closest associates. Here at the end of this luxurious hall is my personal quarters where I live. You will be staying in this room which is typically used by my dearest Alphys, but I’ve refurbished it for your usage. Had the thing completely remodeled for your stay since I’ve never entertained children before.”

Towards the end of the metallic man’s explanation of his home WingDings attempts to speak up only to be cut off once again.

Never entertained children is right.

“Just press this button and the doors will slide open,” Mettaton demonstrates and with a smooth hiss the two doors slide open, vanishing into the wall. The room itself is enormous, furnished with a king sized bed, desk, several screens, a kitchenette, bathroom and walk in closet. Freezing up, WingDings stares into the intimidating space realizing this ‘bedroom’ could very well be the size of his house back home. Inside the room, Fredrick is finishing up unpacking several boxes and hanging them in the closet. 

“Oh, look how adorable,” the metal man gushes, rushing into the room and plucking one of the shirts from a box. “You’ll look like an absolute doll in this.”

Instantly, WingDings is stepping back and crossing his arms protectively over his chest. His frown is so deep, he snarls, narrowing his pinprick eyes at the two. Before this point the child could accept that Mettaton is simply strange and selfish, but now he might as well be a treacherous villain. His brothers never treat him like this. Shyren never treated him like this.

He’s put up with a lot today and he’s putting his foot down now.

Doesn’t help that Mettaton is referring to him as a doll. The shirt Mettaton is showcasing doesn’t even look all that bad, but he’ll decide if he wants to wear it thank you very much. He’s a big kid and can make his own choice. Doesn’t matter that he’d look deadly cute in that shirt, because he knows he would, but most everything has been decided for him today and now he has the chance to make Mettaton miserable.

Mettaton ignores WingDings venomous reaction, cheerfully pulling out one stylish item after another. The more the child sees the more he realizes just how different they are from what he normally wears. In the end his curiosity out weighs his frustration, as it always does, and is what beckons him into the room as the two men rifle through the fashionable clothing.

As WingDings stands beside a stool by some giant mirrors Mettaton swiftly holds up a shirt to his chest, before frowning, tossing it back in the box and pulling out the next. “We should stick with a small size four,” he tells Frederick who nods in agreement, handing the robot a pair of skinny black zipper pants. Mettaton holds up the pants to WingDings smiling at the design and perfect size. “Oh yes! Good eye, Frederick. You really are the best at what you do.”

The man doesn’t bother answering as he proceeds to pick out that particular size from the boxes and fill the closet with it. When the adults decide what to try and what to simply toss, they usher WingDings into the closet with Mettaton following him inside. During the entire process Frederick hardly says a word and WingDings wonders if this is because he is a man of few words or because he knows he can’t get a word in edgewise with all the talking Mettaton produces.

“We’ll start with your everyday clothes,” Mettaton says, collecting an outfit and setting it on a fancy chair like cushion in the center of the closet. Glancing around WingDings can see that there are other clothes stored in here, but they are obviously meant for someone else. “Take those off,” Mettaton says, referring to the uniform WingDings is still wearing. “I’ll have those washed and returned to Scats by morning. We’ll start with this outfit. Do you require assistance?” 

Taking the hat off his head, the child sets it down carefully on the large cushion, fond of this particular item of clothing, and works at the uniforms coat. “I can dress myself,” WingDings states proudly and proceeds to unfasten the first two buttons before simply forcing it up over his head, upon where it becomes inevitably stuck in his haste since he didn’t undo enough buttons. Frustrated, the small determined being attempts to force the garment off, but is stopped when Mettaton puts his hands away and pulls the jacket down again.

“Honestly W.D. Gaster, you don’t want to tear it do you?” Mettaton says. “What would Mister Scats say?”

That is enough to pacify WingDings from his fight with the jacket and he relinquishes control.

Eyes only upon his task, Mettaton removes WingDings coat and shirt. The robot glances at the mismatch combination of bone and machine that makes up the childs upper body, along with his strange soul housed within. Cupping his chin, Mettaton focuses on the child’s torso before asking. “When was the last time you had maintenance done?”

“I went to the pediatrician not too long ago,” the small boy of metal and bones states proudly, pointedly never glancing down.

“Hmm, that is not reassuring darling,” Mettaton sighs earning another scoff and pout from WingDings. What is this metal man’s deal! Nothing he says or does is good enough for him. “I’ll have Doctor Alphys take a look at you. Frederick! Make an appointment would you.”

Before the moment can drag on WingDings grabs the new shirt and yanks it over his head, shaking and twitching as he does so. He’s so quick that he fails to notice he’s put it on backwards.

If Mettaton notices the boy’s discomfort he doesn’t react to it simply returning WingDings hands into the shirt so he can safely turn the form fitting shirt around to face the proper direction. “We can go without the undershirt for the time being,” Mettaton says as he adjusts the sleeves and shoulders. 

The child frowns at the texture and tight grip of the mulberry fabric as it clings to his body. He pulls at it, attempting to force the hem further down like he’s used to wearing his clothes but it rests at the lip of his pants. After that, Mettaton helps him put on some underwear and skinny jeans which the child is again pushing and pulling at.

“It’s too tight,” WingDings complains, once again trying to get the shirt to stop riding up even as Mettaton puts a vest decorated with an unnecessary amount of zippers on him.

“Nonsense,” Mettaton says. “It fits perfectly. Stop fidgeting and let’s have a look at you.” With a gentle shove he encourages WingDings out of the closet and in front of the mirrors directly outside. “Sharp and absolutely fabulous. Just the perfect amount of sass and casual.”

Glaring at Mettaton through the reflection in the glass, he makes a point of tugging at the shirt and stomping one foot. “I want my old clothes,” WingDings says. “Mister Scats has them.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll return them soon, but I doubt what you had compares to what I have given you,” Mettaton states matter-of-factly.

“I’m tired, can I go to bed,” WingDings tries again, growling at the man.

“Don’t be silly, we’ve only just started,” Mettaton says. “You have plenty of Determination left to get you through a fun night of dress up.”

Red snaps into WingDings eyes. “I don’t want to play dress up, I want to go home!”

“Is this what they call a tantrum?” Mettaton asks Frederick who offers a quick nod in agreement. “Well we’ll just have to get through it then. This is for your own good W.D. Gaster. If you are to make it in this city, you have to look the part.”

“Stop calling me W.D. Gaster. That isn’t my name!” WingDings slams his hands to his sides, burning red in his cheeks. “I’m WingDings!”

“Very well WingDings,” Mettaton says with a slight sneer. “We still have a lot of clothes to try on, come.”

With a frustrated kick, WingDings is practically dragged into the closet where he is put into one outfit after the next. He complains the entire time, determined to make Mettaton suffer just as much as he is. In his short life he has never been ‘forced’ to try on so many clothes and never when he isn’t in the mood for it. Trying on clothes with Papyrus is an infinitely better experience.

Truth is, he’d probably enjoy the attention if he isn’t so fixated on how unhappy the whole situation is making him feel and he lets it out on his new guardian. He is also very tired. The only thing that keeps WingDings awake is the determination pumping through him As soon as he is fed and tucked into bed in his stylish new PJ’s he’s out like a burnt out bulb, much to the adult’s relief.

When WingDings wakes the following morning he forgets where he is until he remembers the torture Mettaton forced him to endure the previous evening. Grumbling under his breath, the young boy shuffles down the long hallway, rubbing and blinking his eye sockets. Once in the commons area, he finds Frederick who has prepared breakfast for him at the counter. The sight is familiar, reminding him of how Tenga would prepare breakfast daily for the household.

“Mettaton will be out for the morning,” Frederick tells him as the child takes a seat. “I will be leaving for a short time as well. Feel free to explore and entertain yourself. Mettaton merely asks that you do not break anything and stay inside.”

WingDings lifts a brow at the servant, because that’s what he is. He’s no longer a secretary after witnessing just how much this human does for the metallic super star.

“You’re just going to leave me here alone?” WingDings asks in disbelief. While it’s true he dislikes the adults he doesn’t want to be left all alone.

“Yes, you seem to be a responsible child,” the man says. “I can count on you to stay out of trouble.”

The child looks at the man in disbelief, but his features soon relax and he gives him a warm smile. “Mister Frederick,” WingDings says sweetly. “I’ll do my very best.”

“Good,” Frederick says. After pouring the child a glass of juice, Frederick grabs up his satchel and device before leaving and locking the apartment.

WingDings takes his time eating the meal, studying the large room and savoring the hot meal. All while his thoughts wander, plotting all the things he can do today. As he does so a wide thin smile reaches from one corner of his jaw to the other. By the time he’s finished he’s fidgeting with excitement, his ideas wishing to burst out as he familiarizes himself with every door, every button, every switch and every room the apartment has to offer.

To add to his anarchy the child also refuses to change out of his pajamas. None of the clothes he tried on the previous evening were very comfortable in his opinion and if he’s going to be home alone there is no point to pleasing anyone other than himself.

The opportunity he’s searching for presents itself in Mettaton’s closest which might as well be a separate bedroom. Opening the robots drawers WingDings locates all of the socks the man owns and proceeds to pull them apart and pair them with opposite colors and when he runs out of colors simply turn them inside out. WingDings has no idea why the metal monster would bother wearing socks and stockings, but he isn’t about to pass the opportunity up on.

Next he turns all of Mettaton’s shirts and jackets inside out, followed by his pants, employing his magic hands to make the process go even faster, and putting everything away neatly as to make it impossible to tell at a glance that anything has changed. He is sure not to mess up every pair, leaving the pants on top of the stacks undisturbed as to mislead Mettaton. He tries to do the same with the shirts and undergarments, anything that is stored on a shelf or drawer. When his glorious work with Mettaton’s closet is complete, he moves onto the giant bathroom which is mostly a repair station of sorts, holding equipment for maintenance and tools to shine and buff his metal body.

Since WingDings doesn’t want to hurt the monster he merely switches certain bottles of wax and sprays which will result in Mettaton accidentally changing the color of his hair and his body paint. For once acting on his caution he only tampers with a few bottles before moving on to Mettaton’s enormous television. After figuring out how to turn on the dang thing without it sputtering off or beeping angrily at him, WingDings is disgusted to find that nearly every channel has Mettaton on it!

Filled with determination, WingDings manages to put a parental block on all of Mettaton’s channels leaving the news, comedy stations, and kids programming. He then marks all of Mettaton’s favorites as various kid programs. The more annoying, the better.

If his brothers caught him doing this he’d be grounded for life, but they aren’t here.

By the time WingDings is nearly finished with the television he hears the door open. He’s glad that watching T.V. isn’t a suspicious activity for a child. If they caught him messing with paint or Mettaton’s socks he’d be found out much too soon for this to be any fun.

“I’ll make you some lunch,” Frederick tells him as he places his satchel in the coat closet and makes his way for the kitchen.

“Where’s Mettaton?” WingDings asks.

“Turn on Channel 326 and you’ll find out,” Frederick says.

Grumbling, WingDings pointedly turns his head back towards the kids program he’s watching about a group of children collecting magic mice. “I’d rather not,” he says, hoping Frederick doesn’t push the issue, otherwise he’d be found out.

“Suit yourself,” Frederick shrugs and busies himself with making something for WingDings to eat.

WingDings would stick his tongue out at the man . . . if he had a tongue.

“Are you still in your pajama’s?” the man asks.

“Yes,” WingDings says, giving a look that say’s ‘duh you silly person’.

Frederick doesn’t comment, far be it from him to force the six year old to change clothes after the torment of last nights adventure.

As soon as the meal is finished, Frederick tells WingDings he’ll be back later and leaves once again. The child wonders if this is what the next couple of days are going to look like.

If this is the case, they have another thing coming.

After eating, WingDings entertains the idea of making a more elaborate prank, but since he doesn’t know when Mettaton will return he chooses to simply design something so he can implement his diabolical creation later. It would be a simple concept if not for one problem.

He can’t find paper anywhere.

No spiral notebooks, no scraps of receipts, not even a napkin from the kitchen. Apparently Mettaton is too fancy for something like napkins since the only thing he has is cloth like handkerchiefs in his drawers. In a huff WingDings briefly considers the walls but recalls what happened the last time he decided to use walls as his personal notebook. Since using paper is out of the question, he sets about finding something else that can accomplish the same task, namely a computer or tablet. 

A tablet proves easy to find, stored in the desk of his new room. Sadly turning it on without it beeping aggressively at him or showing scribbled coding proves to be near impossible. The more frustrated he becomes the worst the device behaves forcing him to set it down and calm himself before trying again. It takes a lot of patience, a trait he lacks inherently, and double perseverance to tolerate the unstable device, but in the end it’s worth it.

With careful fingers WingDings goes around the house making a list of useful and easily unnoticed items that he can use, constructing blueprints of the rooms for optimal pranks like buckets of water, and brainstorming effective tricks he can realistically implement. While imagining a proper prank for Mettaton’s theater, he hears the distant call of the robot man from the other end of the apartment.

“WingDings! I have a surprise!” Mettaton sings.

Sighing under his breath, WingDings locks the device just in case and rolls off the large bed. Even if someone manages to guess his password they wouldn’t be able to read his native font easily without the code. “Yes Mettaton sir?” WingDings asks as he enters the room. As soon as he sees the man, he stops in his tracks staring in confusion.

As if organizing an orchestra, the metal man is directing a slew of monsters and humans around the entry way, setting down boxes for him before retreating from sight.

“How did they all fit in the elevator?” WingDings asks, as he walks up to the tin boxes. A growing curiosity quickly swells inside the small boy as he studies the strange sealed boxes.

“They didn’t darling,” Mettaton laughs, which reminds the child just how much he dislikes the automaton. “There are two teams. One came up in the elevator while the other stayed behind. After unloading these strapping young men the team on the ground floor fill the elevator with all my purchases.”

“What’s in the boxes?” this should have been his first question.

“You’ll see,” Mettaton sings again as he directs the last few boxes and thanks the workers for their assistance.

WingDings frowns, feeling offended that Mettaton takes the time to thank and be kind to these strangers and has never shown any amount of compassion towards him.

None that he remembers.

Flying over to one of the crates, Mettaton slides the hatch off and bends down into it. “Oh yes, this is absolutely perfect,” when he stands up he reveals a . . . well WingDings isn’t exactly sure what it is, but he assumes it’s a robotic dummy. The kind meant for dressing in stores or practicing politeness. “What do you think?”

“What is it?” WingDings asks, looking up at the thing with an open mind and wide eyes.

“What do you mean ‘what is it’? Don’t you know? It’s one of the most popular toys this season! Rated by children your own age,” Mettaton exclaims.

“I’ve . . . never seen it before,” WingDings settles on saying after staring at it for a solid five seconds. He doesn’t want to appear stupid by asking again what it is suppose to be, but Mettaton’s tone makes him feel sheepish. He’s used to be the smartest kid in the entire school, fifth graders included.

“Ooh, well isn’t that precious,” Mettaton says causing the child to blush with embarrassment. “This is your lucky day then. All of these boxes are full of toys just for you. I went on a shopping spree today! My work keeps me very busy you see. Very very busy. But I felt awful leaving you here all alone. So I bought you some things to help pass the time.”

At first WingDings is ecstatic to learn that all of these boxes taking up the entryway are his. Perhaps he’ll actually be able to enjoy his birthday in this new world! It feels like it’s what he deserves, but then he realizes Mettaton is the one who bought it all and is probably patronizing him in some way. After experiencing Mettaton’s gifts first hand last night WingDings has a sinking suspicion that he might not enjoy this process.

Cautiously, WingDings opens the crates one by one, doing his best to smile and be appreciative of the strange gifts since that’s what he’s been taught to do. The gifts are mostly action figures with hundreds of buttons with special capabilities and functions for optimal play for a lone child. The only thing WingDings is happy about upon seeing these devices, is the prospect of taking them apart to see how they work since they keep short circuiting each time he touches them.

WingDings almost feels guilty for all the pranks he’s concocted for Mettaton today after receiving such gifts.

Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is so much I want to explain, but you’re smart readers, I’m sure you understand that Mettaton is not being a proper guardian in this chapter. Manipulation and neglect are not okay. On the plus side WingDings is no ordinary child, but it doesn’t justify Mettaton’s choices here. Also if you like Mettaton in the game, he’s great. This Mettaton is not him. Better Mettaton’s will appear in future stories.


	7. Toys Don’t fix the Problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mettaton tries again.

When WingDings unpacks the last box he is surprised to find something he actually is excited about. Eyes glowing bright, the child summons his magic hands to retrieve numerous building blocks out of the box. He’s never seen so many different kinds of shapes and sizes of blocks in his entire life! Never could he hope to own so many back home. “Thank you Mettaton!” he actually leaps to where the robot is sitting on a chair and hugs his leg briefly as a sign of approval before returning to the blocks.

Mettaton accepts his thanks and proceeds to speak about something pertaining to his great taste, but WingDings doesn’t bother listening. With the help of his extra hands, WingDings closes the packages and proceeds to use them to build a fort in the large open living space, using the smaller blocks for added detail and design. He barely takes note of when Mettaton leaves the room to shoot his ‘fitness livestream’ in the other room. He doesn’t even notice Frederick showing up and starting dinner.

“It’s time for dinner WingDings,” Mettaton calls from the kitchen.

“Kay,” WingDings answers, but keeps working on his fort. He’s trying to construct a bed with the living room pillows, one that doesn’t lose its shape or comfort when he lays in it.

“Darling,” Mettaton calls again. There is a bit more singing in his tone, which as any child paying attention would know means nothing good.

WingDings ignores him, much to wrapped up in his current project to care about Mettaton or his food.

“WingDings,” the robots voice lowers an octave and the scrape of a chair can be heard.

Again the child continues to be consumed in his project, now using a blanket to construct a kind of canopy for the bed. Something he remembers seeing in a Medieval Castles book he likes to read.

“WingDings!” Mettaton thrusts his head through one of the large windows, startling the child.

But it isn’t enough to make him stop.

“I’m almost done,” he says, tucking one of the corners of the blanket into the seams of his fort wall. Actually it’s more of a house at this point in its construction.

“Your food will get cold,” Mettaton huffs. “You need to come out.” A long arm coils through the door and snags the neck of the boy’s pajama top.

“No,” WingDings snaps, releasing the blanket so he doesn’t accidentally tear it away from the wall and destroy his master piece. “I’m not done.”

“Yes you are,” Mettaton says. “And you’ll be putting it all away after dinner.”

“But I worked so hard!” WingDings is horrified as he is dragged out of his masterpiece and out into the living room.

“Oh yes, I’m sure it’s one of the most impressive structures you’ve ever build,” Mettaton sighs as he plops WingDings into his chair.

“It is!” WingDings cries. “I’ve never had materials like this before!” As soon as Mettaton releases him he scrambles down the stool and straight for his piece of structural genius. He doesn’t get far as a robotic hand snatches him up.

“That is quite enough,” Mettaton says.

“No!”WingDings kicks his legs and wiggles out of his shirt, falling to the floor.

“WingDings you are being unreasonable!” Mettaton next gently wraps his entire arm around the boy, keeping him still. “You’re acting like a child.”

“I am a child!”

“Then you are acting like a toddler,” Mettaton says.

This stops WingDings antics immediately and he turns a glare on the robot monster, clutching the tube like arm defensively. “I’m not a toddler,” he states.

“Then act like a reasonable child and eat your supper or go without it entirely,” Mettaton says.

Recalling that having a meal isn’t always a right but a luxury, WingDings is settled back into his stool and doesn’t fight it. With a dead glaze in his eyes that isn’t a good look on him despite being a skeleton, WingDings eats the meal, thanking Frederick for making it but otherwise not saying a word. He doesn’t even notice he’s without the top of his pajamas until Mettaton stops him long enough to put the shirt back on.

When he is finished eating, WingDings notes that Frederick and Mettaton are eating as well. He didn’t think a robot could eat, but Mettaton is a monster so that must be the reason. Waiting for a pause between the men’s one sided conversation WingDings speaks up. “Do I have to take it down?” he asks. 

“I’m afraid so,” Mettaton says. “The maids will be coming by tomorrow morning. If you don’t take it down, they certainly will. Everything must be perfect for tomorrow night. I’m hosting a party. Only the hottest stars and biggest names will be there.”

“What am I suppose to do?” WingDings asks.

“You’ll be in Frederick’s care,” Mettaton answers, earning a surprised look from both of his listeners. Apparently this is the first time Frederick is hearing this, but he doesn’t question it, gathering the plates up to clean.

“How often do the maids come to clean?”WingDings asks next.

“Every other day,” he answers.

A frown creases the corner of WingDings mouth as he considers what this means for his more elaborate prank ideas. If maids are coming and going he won’t be able to implement more than half of them unless he has the maid’s assistance.

But he’d rather not depend on them.

Sliding down from his stool WingDings goes to the front of his fort-house and hangs his head. He’s really proud of it and doesn’t want to dismantle it. “Can we take a picture of it?” WingDings asks.

“What a fabulous idea!” Mettaton praises. “As long as you aren’t in the picture of course.”

WingDings chooses not to comment and simply steps aside as the robot picks up Frederick’s device and begins snapping shots of his master piece from different angles. Slowly a small smile appears on WingDings face as he watches the robot get really into it, searching for just the right angle and even taking the time to focus on little details he included.

“Even if your name is barely remembered,” Mettaton says as he finishes up. “Your work remains. I hope to do the same someday. Although I would hope they’d also remember my name. That would be horrible.”

“Why would people remember me?” WingDings asks. “I just got here?”

“Oh, you silly child,” Mettaton says, leaning down to pat WingDings skull.

Remaining thoughtful WingDings chooses not to pursue the topic and proceeds to take his fort apart. It’s easier taking it apart than building it, but there are a few times a large crate nearly falls on top of him when he isn’t paying attention. The adults end up helping him, carefully dismantling it and taking the toys and crates to his bedroom for him to play with another day.

When they are finished Mettaton reads WingDings a bedtime story, like a proper guardian should and gets him ready for bed with a new pair of pajamas, tucking him in for the night.

WingDings doesn’t much care for the story, but can’t complain since Mettaton is at least attempting to be a decent caretaker.

Won’t change his mind about all of the little tricks he’s planted for the monster, but it is enough to gain his approval.

Sometime in the night WingDings wakes from a nightmare and immediately searches for a distraction. After getting himself a glass of water, WingDings is feeling rather lonely. Since there is only one other person in the apartment, he has no choice but to go to Mettaton’s room. He finds the metal man lying comatose on the large bed, with numerous wires plugged into him.

The strange sight makes WingDings nervous, but it isn’t enough to scare him away. Pushing his fear aside, he summons his determination climbs onto the bed and curls up near Mettaton’s feet, clutching the pillow he’s brought with him.

He doesn’t sleep, merely basking in the presence of another person before returning to his own room to try and sleep. In the morning he wakes to the sound of a hair dryer and the hum of vacuums as the cleaning team works throughout the apartment. With his hunger and the noise pestering him, WingDings chooses to get up, shuffling toward the hall. Once out in the hall WingDings takes a moment to enjoy the morning sight of the city, hearing the muffled gasp of “Oh my’ from Mettaton, followed by a dramatic whine like sob of ‘no, no, no, my beautiful hair. . .’

Apparently Mettaton used one of WingDings swapped hair dyes this morning. Grinning smugly WingDings quickly makes his way towards the kitchen. In the kitchen Frederick has breakfast ready which WingDings takes part, watching the army of maids are cleaning in the main living space, all armed with vacuums of every size and other cleaning devices.

“WingDings!” Mettaton’s shout can be easily heard over the hum of the cleaning ladies, but the child pretends not to hear it and enjoys his meal.

Seconds later the robotic man is standing beside him.

“WingDings!” he says with exasperation, leaning heavily on the counter. “Did you touch my hair dyes yesterday?”

Calmly, the young skeleton finishes chewing his toast before looking up at Mettaton. He smiles up at him, shrugs his shoulders and goes back to eating.

The hand Mettaton is using to brace himself against the counter steadily closes into a fist as he glares daggers at the child, his face heating up and steaming. “WingDings I told you not to touch anything.”

“You told me not to ‘break anything’,” WingDings calmly corrects him.

The sound of stressed grinding metal is heard as Mettaton smashes his teeth together. With a quick flick of his hand, the monster reaches around and picks WingDings up by the elastic of his pajama pants.

“Hey, I’m still eating,” WingDings cries as he flies into the air, swinging his arms uselessly.

“Oh, don’t worry child, it isn’t going anywhere,” Mettaton seethes, bringing WingDings back to the child’s bedroom and entering the closet.

Anything but that!

“No! You can’t make me wear those stupid clothes!” WingDings shouts.

“I can’t, but you WILL wear them!” Mettaton tells the child, dropping him on the cushion. “I won’t have any charge of mine, going out wearing his Pajama’s all day. I was being magnificently generous yesterday. A huge mistake in hindsight.”

WingDings glares at the metal man.

By the time Mettaton is done with the child it’s been half an hour, but never has WingDings ever looked so stylish. He’s wearing several layers of cloth, consisting mostly of black, white and yellow. In WingDings opinion the outfit possess too many zippers, most of which don’t appear to serve any functional purpose. What even are pockets in this world?

When he sits down at the counter again, Frederick, being the considerate fellow he is, already has WingDings meal re-heated for him. The sound of metal clinks the bars of his stool as the boy swings his legs beneath him and he is forced to stop, not enjoying the harsh clink of clanging metal. Instead the drone of Mettaton and Frederick’s voices fills his head, along with the cleaning crews chattering machinery. 

“Looks like I’ll be home most of the day WingDings,” Mettaton eventually says, turning to face his young charge. “We can spend the day together. I will need to oversee all of the party’s preparations, of course, but you won’t be home alone. Isn’t that fabulous!You’ll get to spend the day with me!”

WingDings clenches his teeth behind his masked smile and holds his breath.

“Oh, I knew you’d agree,” Mettaton continues, completely undeterred and choosing to ignore any hint of WingDings displeasure. “What would you like to do first? Watch one of my movies in the theater? That is a splendid idea. I know just the perfect film to . . .” WingDings cannot hear anything the monsters says.

He is livid.

Actually he is past livid, he is furious. This is like Empress Undyne all over again.

As he stares at Mettaton’s sickening perfect mouth WingDings eyes snap with magic, his hands clutching the rim of his stool. When he can’t contain his frustration without possibly unleashing his magic by mistake, WingDings settles on screaming in his namesakes font, beeps and squeals included. “No I don’t want to do that at all!” he screams. “That sounds like a ‘fabulous’ way to torture me! I don’t get it. One minute you’re okay and the next you’re a huge ugly jerk!”

After that he leaps from his seat and races for his room, shutting the sliding doors and sealing them tight. Assuming this won’t be enough, WingDings summons as many magic hands as he can. He doesn’t stop until the entire doorway is sealed with his hands.

“WingDings! WingDings, open the door!” Mettaton calls, knocking on the door heavily.

“No!” WingDings shouts, but it sounds more like a sharp clip of a dial tone.

“You are being unreasonable, darling!”

“Unreasonable! Unreasonable!” WingDings flails his metal hands over his head, the energy of his soul pulsing from him uselessly as he rages. “You are unreasonable! This is not okay Mister Mettaton. You think toys make me happy?!” Well they do, but that was yesterday and this is today.

“If you open this door, right now, I might forgive you this tantrum WingDings Gaster,” Mettaton says in a clipped tone.

“I won’t open this door!” WingDings shouts back, tears coming to his eyes. “I don’t want to see you! You . . . You liar! I want to go home!” He sobs loudly, wiping furiously at his sockets and falling to his rear.

In answer there is only silence. A minute or two later WingDings can barely hear the muffled conversation of Mettaton and Frederick, apart from his sniffles, but he cannot discern what they are saying. He doesn’t much care and he gradually calms down, but he is still determined not to see Mettaton anytime soon.

“WingDings darling?” Mettaton speaks up, instantly making WingDings tense. When the child doesn’t respond the metal man continues. “I’m sorry darling. I was being insensitive. I forget you are just a child. That you are in a difficult situation.”

The boy doesn’t respond, but he is listening with rapt attention.

“WingDings-darling, if you want to talk, I’ll be right here,” Mettaton says, the sound of him sliding down the door and leaning against it accompanying his claim.

For a long time neither of them moves, but when he is finished wiping the tears from his face, the boy shuffles to the magic hands still clasping the door. He holds out his metal hand and touches one of them. His new hand doesn’t match the magic ones, there is no hole in the middle, which makes WingDings feel . . . disconnected although he doesn’t understand it. His hands don’t feel like his own. This world is not his own. And he wants to leave. He wants to leave so bad.

But his determination isn’t going to get him there, not without the pieces of his soul that he is missing.

Releasing his magic, WingDings allows the hands to fall away, the red glow seeping from his body and finally dimming.

While he waits for the magic to fall away, he looks at the door and cautiously lifts a hand to open the sliding pieces.

Mettaton is still sitting there, patiently waiting like he said he would, looking out the large window to the expanse of building going on forever.

“I’m sorry I yelled Mister Mettaton,” WingDings says, looking without waveringly at the man.

“Apology accepted,” Mettaton says. “I am . . . sorry as well.” The word ‘sorry’ is not comfortable on his hard lips, but he manages to say it. “Would you forgive this fabulous robot for being a dramatic fool?”

A small smile pinches WingDings lonely lips. “I guess I could forgive that,” he says folding his arms behind his back and tipping his weight loosely onto his heels, rocking back and forth.

“Thank you WingDings-darling,” the drama master kneels and peeks to his left, looking to Frederick for some kind of guidance. Receiving a response undetected by WingDings Mettaton spreads his arm offering the child a hug.

Encouraged by the offering, WingDings easily comes forward and hugs him, not bothered by the hard metal. After all, he’s used to hugging harder things and metal isn’t very different.

“There, all behind us,” Mettaton replies, patting WingDings on the head as they separate. “I need to ask that you remain patient. I can’t take you home yet. It is not within my ability, but I am an actor of my word. You will get your soul pieces back, that you will.”

Reluctantly, WingDings nods solemnly, unhappy with having to wait, but already accepting that he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. The idea of leaving the apartment crosses his mind. One short-cut away is all it would take. But there is no telling where that will take him. He’d rather not be anywhere close to the situation he found himself in four days ago.

His thoughts are broken when Mettaton asks, “Come WingDings, what would you like to do?”

The child thinks long and hard on his request and decides a relaxing activity would be best. “I’d like to learn more about this place,” WingDings answers. “How can I do that?”

Mettaton appears a little surprised by the request, but doesn’t deny the child. He tells WingDings to grab the tablet the child has already been using from the desk and takes WingDings to the theater. Once there the child comfortably lounges on one of the plush couches, following Mettaton’s instructions on what site to navigate while he brings up an accompanying video on the screen. For the remainder of the day WingDings watches Documentary’s and Informative children programs about the place he is visiting.

After a small amount of prompting on the child’s behalf, Mettaton sits beside him and doesn’t leave. The robot monster is glued to his own personal device during their time together, but WingDings doesn’t mind at all. He just doesn’t want to be alone.

They eat lunch in the theater and even dinner, only ending their marathon of learning when the party is closing in on them. After that Frederick takes over as Mettaton prepares himself for the exciting evening.

Everything is going great until the loud blaring music of a children’s nursery rhyme blares through the speakers in the main living space.

It isn’t loud enough to mask Mettaton screaming WingDings name.

Politely, WingDings does as he is asked and removes all of the child safety locks from Mettaton’s music playlists, giggling and snorting all the while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mettaton is still making mistakes, but at least now he’s going to genuinely try to do the right thing from here on out . . . hopefully. Sorry for no update last week, I’ve been sick. Thanks for reading!


	8. Mistaken Identity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look it’s Sans again.

After the correct playlist is recovered the real party starts and WingDings finds himself trying to find the quietest corner of the apartment. You’d think the luxurious apartment would be large enough to accommodate the child’s simple wish, but there is not one crack that can offer the sensitive skeleton robot any relief. Eventually Frederick takes pity on the child and leaves the apartment with him, bringing him down to a food court for a delicious fried crisp dessert.

With a full belly and feeling more secure in his placement in the world WingDings falls asleep in Frederick’s lap, waking in his own bed the following morning. In WingDings humble opinion, The following three days are rather uneventful slowly churning into a routine. Mettaton goes to work, Frederick takes care of him. Mettaton comes home, finds a prank WingDings has created, chases the child around the house, scolds him, forgives him and spends time with him. The next day it starts over again, the only changes being whether or not WingDings gets to travel with them in the limousine with Scats or be left to his own devices in the apartment with Frederick staying with him.

It is good to see Scats again, who is eager and relieved to see WingDings doing well in Mettaton’s care. He even apologizes to Mettaton for assuming the worst of the star and said metal man accepts it graciously, even admitting that he is in a little over his head when it comes to child rearing and may have gotten a few things wrong there at the beginning. After that some days Scats is left to babysit the child, when Frederick and Mettaton are otherwise busy. WingDings not only prefers Scats company but is inevitably kept out of trouble because of it.

After living with Mettaton for a week a new event inevitably interrupts their comfortable routine.

It is late in the afternoon with the sun setting out the windows, offering an impressive show of glinting light as it passes beneath the heavy clouds that often hang around Metta City. Scats has just left for the day, going to pick up Mettaton from his latest event. He won’t be alone long and Scats promised a Spider Muffin if he was good. 

WingDings has all of the pillows and cushions stacked around himself with his tablet in hand as he watches the amazing sunset cast it’s colorful spell on the buildings, creating a reflecting sight. He is careful not to look at the sun directly, but can perhaps endure its golden rays better than most because of his magical eyes. The sight is comforting and keeps him distracted as he waits for Mettaton and Frederick to return.

Now WingDings did promise to stay behaved, but surely programming all of of Mettaton’s music to play in reverse for his ‘workout videos’ doesn’t count as misbehaving. When the last rays of sunlight outline the buildings in a golden glow, WingDings sighs and sags into his pillow fortress. Two minutes later his device beeps at him, alerting him that he has a message. Pressing a button on the side he accesses the video message seeing Mettaton’s face as he attempts to maneuver through a crowd while talking to the screen. 

“Oh yes darlings, fabulous as always,” he says to someone off screen. “WingDings child, we’re on our way home. We’re having a guest tonight, surprise!” A whirl of movement takes place before the screen focuses again on Mettaton and another monster robot WingDings has never met before. “This is Napstablook! My cousin. Do be sure the house is in one piece when we get back. See you soon darling.” Before the video cuts out the robot cousin waves back shyly before Mettaton goes on to sign someone’s arm.

That monster is probably never going to wash that arm every again.

Chuckling much like a fax machine might, WingDings shuts the device and takes the time to gaze out the window one last time before sitting up with the intention of dismantling his pillow mountain, but he stares a moment longer. One by one the neon lights of the city come into focus with more flickering on as twilight surrounds the city. When he goes home to his world, he doubts he’ll ever have the opportunity to enjoy a view like this ever again. The entire room is dark, leaving only the soft glow of the city.

Before he can pick himself up and get to work, WingDings is interrupted by a thunderous crack, snapping somewhere behind him. Electric blue reflects off the glass of his windows as sizzling static races across the boy’s metal limbs. Robbed of his breath, WingDings clutches his body, curling in on himself in surprise. Gone is the calm of the evening. Gone is the comfort of being alone.

What just happened?

Unable to move, WingDings fervently watches the reflection in the glass, the tang of metal sticking in his mouth.

Slowly, calmly, a form with two glowing white eyes appears like a shadow, standing a little behind him and to the left of his cushion shelter. There is not enough light to see the figures reflection clearly in the glass, only a silhouette with glowing white eyes.

“Hey,” a low voice greets him. Oddly, the male sounds familiar but it is far from comforting to the terrified child. “Don’t you know how to greet an old pal?”

It’s his brother. His brother from this world. WingDings can’t bring himself to respond, clutching his hands together and releasing quick clinks in his limbs that sound like thunder in the silence of his mind. 

The intruder sighs, coming forward to reveal a short skeleton robed in a uniform with an emblem WingDings has learned to recognize.

It belongs to the M.C.E. The robots were marked with the same symbol.

“Come on Gaster,” Sans says, rolling his skull around with impatience. “Why don’t you come out and have a chat . . . like old times?”

Never in his entire life has WingDings ever been terrified of his brother. Yes, he’s certainly been scared of disappointing him or of being reprimanded by him, but that isn’t anything like what he is feeling now. WingDings eye lights flash yellow and he checks the aspects of the stranger’s soul.

The monster soul he glimpses in the reflection of the windows is pure, but heavy with regret and clouded by obligation. “I don’t know you,” WingDings whispers.

“Really?” Sans shoves his fists into his pocket and glances in the direction of the kitchen. “Could’a fooled me. After all, that little note made it sound like you wanted to see me.”

The note. . . 

The Note!

He’s right! 

It feels like so long ago now when he left that hasty note on Carl’s device at the dinner. Nervously, WingDings attempts to smile at Sans, but his thin lips twitch with unease. “Maybe,” he answers, unable to bring himself to lie but too tense for the truth.

“Did you write that note just to see if I’d notice?” Sans asks. “To see if my bro or I would actually show up? Well, you might not know this but getting into Mettaton’s apartment isn’t easy. If I had to try any harder I wouldn’t have bothered showing up. You knew this couldn’t be easy or . . .”

The pause is stiffing, but WingDings waits for the skeleton to continue.

“. . . are you just desperate?” Sans finishes.

That’s insulting!

“What do you know?” WingDings hisses, eyes flashing red.

“More than you,” Sans winks one socket shut, studying him with his left eye light. “You’ve lived quite the life. Made a name for yourself. At least when I knew you. . . Unless you’d have me believe this is the first time we’ve met?”

WingDings bites his tongue and looks away. He hasn’t told anyone that he’s from another world. Hasn’t had to, since Mettaton believes he has everything figured out and who is he to correct the impudent man.

“Naw, that’s right,” Sans continues. “If we’ve never met you wouldn’t be sending me mysterious notes like you know me. . . Honestly, you were better off pretending to be dead. Now I’ve gotta take you to the M.C.E.” Eyes wide, WingDings attention snaps around towards Sans only to find him standing directly in front of him. “The very last thing I want to do.”

Startled and fearful, WingDings yelps in a series of high pitched buzzing sounds, haphazardly digging his heels into the floor and ramming himself into the plush wall of his pillow fortress. The force is great enough to cause his structure to collapse on top of him, leaving him desperately attempting to claw himself to freedom. A light ping, rings in his ear and a heavy weight sends his soul to the floor.

Blue mode has been activated.

WingDings cries out, not because it hurts as he’s pinned to the floor but because he’s afraid. He doesn’t want to go with Sans. He doesn’t want to go to the unknown power known only as the M.C.E. He will do anything to avoid that.

He is determined not to go with this frightful Sans.

Filled with fear and determination, his soul and eyes pump red, pulsing within and through the strange machines housing the magic of his hybrid body. The hiss of the magic moving through him is uncomfortable but his resolve remains absolute as he fights against Sans control.

The small child is pushing so hard against the ground and against Sans magic, attempting to get up, that when the older skeleton hastily releases him WingDings goes tumbling to the side and rolling into one of Mettaton’s many couches. Hissing, WingDings clutches his head, moaning through ground teeth as he peers back at Sans from his crouched position.

What he sees is the silhouette of his brother frozen in place, his eye lights replaced with endless black pits in his sockets, a hand stiffly stretched out towards him. “Who are you?”

Rather than answer, WingDings pushes to his feet, his limbs burning red as he leaps towards the door with a strength he cannot properly control, barely keeping his balance as he makes a wall of red bones behind him.

“Hey, kid wait,” Sans attempts to step forward but wisely stops when the wall of red appears to block him.

Slamming into the door, WingDings attempts to open it, but isn’t tall enough to reach the door handle meant for much taller monsters. He is forced to summon a magic hand but the knob is locked. Because who would leave a door unlocked when leaving a child home alone.

“Look kid, I take it back,” Sans tries again, this time maneuvering around the bones carefully, not in any rush.

Alarmed by Sans behavior, WingDings tries to leave more hastily only stopping when he feels the familiar tug for the piece of his soul that Mettaton possesses. With a quick glance over his shoulder, the child focuses on that feeling and attempts to reach it.

“No! Kid!” Sans shouts.

But it is too late.

WingDings uses a ‘short cut’ and warps directly to Mettaton’s position in the garage hundreds of stories beneath him. He hears a screeching whine that tightens in his chest only to be released with an ear breaking crack as he appears in the parking garage directly in front of Mettaton. Feeling a little sick, the boy topples over and clutches the magic saturated ground. It appears as if he’s kneeling in a shallow crater, the cracks glowing a bright red that slowly disappears as the wild magic dissipates.

For a second, two yellow words flash in front of the child, but they vanish as he blinks, making him think he didn’t see anything at all.

“Oh my!” Mettaton jumps in alarm as Scats immediately races forward and attempts to pass the robot. Before he can get a foot in front of the robot though, the lanky cat is hastily grabbed by a metal arm and pulled back.

“Release me, he’s hurt!” Scats yells.

“No, darling, you mustn’t touch him,” Mettaton warns firmly, stepping forward instead and carefully reaching around the panicked child. “Good gracious child, what have you done to yourself?”

If WingDings didn’t feel so short of breath he’d snap back at the rude remark.

“Frederick, call Doctor Alphys immediately,” Mettaton says removing his coat, looking over WingDings with a critical eye. “He doesn’t appear to damaged, over heating perhaps, but I won’t take any chances.”

With a stiff nod, Frederick does just that as Mettaton carefully wraps WingDings in his coat, handling him as if the child were made of glass. “Napstablook, be a dear and hold the elevator door open would you?”

The robot WingDings has yet to meet, scurries for the elevator while Scats makes his presence known, again. “I want you to pick the dear doctor up. I don’t care if you have to drag her out of the M.C.E.”

“Gladly sir,” and the faithful cat is off.

WingDings doesn't remember what happens after that, falling asleep as he lays exhausted in Mettaton’s lush coat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not this chapter originally was much more dramatic than it already is. I tried to tone it down but well, Sans entrance is more potent this way. Thanks for reading~


	9. Remember W.D. Gaster?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alphys shows up again and some plot happens.

When WingDings wakes he’s lying in his bed, tucked in cozy sheets with the morning light trying to peak in through the windows. The young skeleton is content to lay there for a time until he remembers what happened last night. Flying to his feet, WingDings grabs a pillow and flings the door open summoning several hands as he does so. “Mettaton!” he yells as he barrels around the corner and into the living space.

Four heads snap up to look at him, each looking varying degrees of surprise except Frederick who appears unbothered, as if he expects this sort of thing.

“Oh WingDings-Darling, you’re up,” Mettaton says all smiles and sparkles. “And doing well it seems. Fabulous!”

A pillow flies right into the prince of acting’s pretty face.

It falls, revealing the stiff smile still expertly plastered there.

“WingDings . . . Darling, I do believe . . .” Mettaton tries to speak again only to have another pillow thrown at him. By the time the robot monster is standing, WingDings is armed with several pillows in his magic hands earning a blank stare from his target.

By the time WingDings is done flinging his chosen weapon, Mettaton is a mountain of pillows, completely buried and unseen. It surprises the child that no one even attempts to assist the robot star. No one moves, watching the scene quietly. Alphys is there fidgeting, Frederick is cooking, and Napstablook is hugging his arms over his chest and slouching a little.

When WingDings is finished, Mettaton shakes his head around throwing the pillows at the peak of the mountain to reveal his face. “Are you quite done WingDings?” Mettaton asks. “Your tantrums are aggressive and off putting, you’ll never make it in this world with that quality.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m not from this world then!” WingDings shouts, still feeling agitated, but admittedly a little worn out.

But just a little.

“Oh yes, I’m well aware of your displacement here, but tantrums are still unbecoming,” Mettaton says. “Now tell me what’s the matter in a more civilized tone.”

Fisting his hands at his side, WingDings shuts his eyes and forces himself not to stomp his foot. “You . . . you . . .” WingDings starts but then realizes he doesn’t know why he’s upset at Mettaton. His face glows red with anger and frustration as he tries to think of a reason to be upset at the metal man. “I . . . I don’t know.”

“. . . Oh . . . you don’t know?” Napstablook asks innocently, breaking into the conversation and thus disrupting WingDings focus on Mettaton. “You . . . appear to be . . . well distraught. Oh . . . not that I’m judging you . . . just your circumstances are rather . . . complex.”

“Oh yes, but that is hardly a good reason to let it out on me!” Mettaton says. As he mutters things like ‘un-flattering’ and ‘disgraceful’ under his breath, removing the numerous pillows from his person.

“I’m sure you have . . . How . . . how about you tell us what . . . what happened last night?” Alphys speaks up before Mettaton is completely free of his plush prison. The lizard woman appears much older than the Alphys he knows with bags under her eyes and wrinkles on her brow. Despite her discomfort she does her best to smile at WingDings, easing the boy into relaxing at least somewhat.

“Oh, I . . . hmm,” WingDings teeters off.

“Have something to eat,” Frederick encourages him.

“Thank you Mister Frederick I will,” he sits on the stool and after his first bite begins to tell them what happened. “Sans showed up in the apartment.”

Mettaton gasps. “No,” he says in a whisper of shock, a hand to his mouth.

“MmmHmm,” WingDings nods. “He said that it had been awhile and I noticed the emblem on his uniform.” Before he continues he takes a bite, thinking. “He said that he had to turn me in. . . Said he didn’t want to but he was going to anyway.” Setting his fork down, he stares at the food. “That scared me and I tried to run, but he turned me blue and I couldn’t move.”

“. . . oh . . . so . . . that’s why you teleported,” Napstablook says.

“Well I . . . Mmm,” WingDings presses his lips together. “He . . . let me go I guess. I was too scared at the time to really notice. I teleported after that.”

“Why is that, did her hurt you?” Frederick prompts.

“I couldn’t open the door so . . . I teleported,” WingDings says hastily shoving some food in his mouth.

“You can teleport?” Alphys asks. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

WingDings continues eating, but nods his head.

“H-how did you know where to go?” Alphys asks.

“I knew where the piece of my soul was,” WingDings answers. “I can tell where they are kinda and Mettaton was directly below me.”

As the room goes silent, WingDings concentrates fully on eating, having nothing more to say about last night and feeling a little overwhelmed again.

“Mettaton, m-may I have a word with . . . with you,” Alphys asks, but it’s spoken as a command if her stern expression is anything to go by. “Alone.”

Raising his hands in posh submission, Mettaton honors her request and follows her out of the kitchen space and down the hall to his room. As soon as they shut the door, WingDings is out of his seat and quietly racing after them. He wants to hear what they have to say.

“. . . oh . . . uh . . . we shouldn’t eavesdrops . . .” Napstablook says as he follows closely behind WingDings. Frederick is also following, but he doesn’t verbally complain or dissuade WingDings decision.

“I want to know what they’re saying,” WingDings responds, stopping in front of Mettaton’s door and sliding his body up against the slick panel. Gently pressing his skull to the door, the child tries to hear what they are saying. Above him Napstablook and Frederick do the same.

“. . . L-lie to me!” Alphys says clear as day. Her stutter is nearly gone as she raises her voice at the metal man. “How much of what you said is t-true? Did you really find him on the streets? I sh-should have . . . known that he was W.D. Gaster with a soul like that. . . It’s a miracle he’s alive!”

“But Alphys darling that isn’t W.D. Gaster,” Mettaton coos, trying to placate her with a calm tone. “I know how much you looked up to him, but this child has no . . .”

“Don’t you d-dare!” Alphys yells at him. “Are you trying to protect me Mettaton?! Don’t! I c-can handle it. Otherwise I wouldn’t b-be here today!”

“But darling . . .”

“Don’t ‘darling’ me!” Alphys tail hits the ground with a heavy thump. “I g-gave you a piece of his soul for safe keeping, its t-time you g-gave it back!”

“I need it to help him,” Mettaton sighs, a metallic whine grinding through his throat. “Without it I’ll be like the rest and forget him. What good will I be to him then? Not all of us are like you and Sans.”

“The s-sooner Gaster has that p-piece the s-sooner he can re-retrieve the other p-piece from the M.C.E.,” Alphys snaps.

The M.C.E.? The metal hand WingDings has pressed against the door tightens, his fingertips lightly scratching its surface. Eyes glowing red the child presses his lips and keeps his breath shallow, careful to remain silent despite the concern this reveal riles inside him.

“But he’s a child!” Mettaton says more loudly, becoming defensive as Alphys strikes a chord. “I won’t let you make another mistake.”

“I’m fixing my mistakes,” Alphys says clearly, her tail thumbing the floor several more times. “And th-this is a mistake I plan on fixing t-too.”

“And you will, but not without me. You need my assistance,” Mettaton states. “I found that child. I will be the one that saves him. I will accomplish this magnificent feat!”

Under his breath WingDings sighs, rolling his eyes as he hears the absurd statement. He waits for them to continue, but the room is silent. Hoping he hasn’t missed something WingDings holds his breath willing someone to say something. Above him Napstablook and Frederick are just as tense, holding their breath in time with him.

“Why would you do something . . . something so selfless?” Alphys finally asks. “You have n-nothing to gain helping Gaster.”

“. . . Of course I do . . .” Mettaton says, sounding confident despite the pauses in his speech. “I’ll be a hero for helping a child. Besides . . . I do plenty for the common folk.”

“Are you functioning p-properly?” Alphys asks stiffly. The sound of shuffling feet and the clash of metal parts can be heard as the short scientist retrieves something close by.

“I assure you, I’m in top working condition,” Mettaton says. “I couldn’t afford to be otherwise.”

“W-well according to my s-scans your determination levels are abnormally high,” Alphys objects.

His determination levels? What’s the big fuss about that, although this isn’t the first time the subject has come up.

“M-Mettaton,” Alphys continues when Mettaton refuses to answer. “Th-that . . . Gaster is leaking more th-than just m-magic. Th-this . . . this is . . .”

“I’m well aware of that darling,” Mettaton sighs.

“This is bad!” Alphys screams. “What if the M.C.E. finds out! Do you know how dangerous determination is? How much they want it!?”

“They won’t know darling, he’s perfectly safe here,” Mettaton assures her.

“Sans was here last night!!!” Alphys screams breathing heavily. WingDings can hear her feet shuffling along the floor as she paces, muttering things under her breath as she does so.

“A simple matter,” Mettaton continues, not bothered by his friends realistic panic. “We merely must reunite him with his other piece.”

“At the M.C.E.?!?”

“I was so hoping you could use your connections to get us in,” Mettaton says.

“. . . This . . . this c-cannot be happening. . .” Alphys voice trails off.

“I’ll give you time to think about it Alphys,” Mettaton assures her. “In the mean time I have some avid listeners to meet with.” A second later the door all three spies are leaning against disappears and they tumble past the bedrooms threshold.

“It’s very rude to listen in on a private conversation,” Mettaton says, crossing his arms and looking down his nose at the guilty parties he’s addressing. “Now if you don’t mind, Napstablook and I have a show to attend. In the meantime Frederick will stay here with WingDings. Alphys,” he turns calling for her attention and she stops just long enough from her pacing to look up at the robot. “Feel free to stay as long as you wish. I’m sure you’ll find a way for us to enter the M.C.E.”

With his mind spoken, Mettaton leaves with his cousin, allowing WingDings free reign of the house. In some ways the child is excited. Mettaton is finally showing initiative to help him with his soul, but that means going to the one place he’s been warned about since coming to this city.

To pass the time, WingDings spends the day building a battery with Frederick. A battery powered by lemons. The idea, while pointless in a city this advanced, is still fascinating to the child and Frederick certainly doesn’t care what he does with his time.

Late in the afternoon, Alphys emerges from the back room, head stooped and shoulders sagging. “I-it’s going to take me some t-time to c-come up with a feasible p-plan,” she tells Frederick who helps her retrieve her grey coat. “I’ll b-be in touch.”

Before she’s about to step outside she looks at WingDings with a sad expression. She looks like she wants to say something, but the words die on her lips and she ends up leaving without saying anything. It doesn’t really bother WingDings since he doesn’t understand the baggage she carries on her scaly back, but he is observant enough to realize there is more that she isn’t telling.

“Hey kid?” Frederick asks as they enjoy dinner together.

Being addressed by the assistant with any term is unexpected by WingDings. Rarely does the man have anything to say to him, unless he is conveying a message from Mettaton. Otherwise he makes simple suggestions, or doesn’t speak at all.

“Yes Frederick sir?”

“You said you’re from another world?” the man asks, taking WingDings earlier outburst more seriously then any of the others have.

“Yes, I did,” WingDings answers.

“I think I believe you,” Frederick nods his head. “You’re finally starting to stick on me. Before today I would have never thought to ask such a question. It never even crossed my mind before today.”

“I . . . I’ve never had this affect on people before,” WingDings admits. “Not even in the other places I’ve been.”

“What kinds of places?” Frederick asks, comfortably leaning forward on the counter.

Slowly a smile crosses WingDings face as a warm excitement grows in his chest. The idea of sharing this side of himself that he’s kept hidden makes him happy. Children love to talk about themselves and tell stories, he is no different.

As they eat he tells Frederick about his adventure amongst skeletons his own age in a world where water soup was considered a meal. He also talks about his transformation into a skeleton fish creature and his life touring with a singer in the underwater kingdom. There are other worlds he’s been to, but he has no clear memory of them since he was quite young at the time. He remembers strangers caring resolve, a colorful quilt and a music box. And a lot of Temmies.

Frederick listens intently, asking questions every so often to show that he is paying attention. That night the assistant puts WingDings to bed, staying in the apartment as to not leave the child alone. The skeleton child sleeps well and wakes early, eager to see what the day holds.

He is disappointed to find that it holds no changes from the routine of the previous week. There are only two differences that cause the boy concern. The first is that he is never left in the apartment alone with Frederick and Scats taking turns watching him. The other obvious change is Mettaton’s absence. When he asks about his whereabouts his caretakers inform him that he is busy hosting shows and performing, switching on the giant screens to show him the robot’s live shows.

After three days of enduring slow monotony WingDings grows agitated. It’s like waiting for Gyftmas only he has no date on the calendar to count down to and no real reason to remain pleasantly patient. “Why is he so busy?” WingDings asks Scats one day as he uses a nifty little computer program to design his own simple game on his tablet.

“I don’t really know?” Scats admits, his current baby sitter and perhaps his favorite, not that he’s want to her Frederick’s feelings. “Normally he wouldn’t be out so much . . .”

“It isn’t because of me is it?” WingDings asks, careful not to look up at the cat monster.

“No, he gave his word he’d be back,” Scats tells him. “He and Alphys both.”

“I feel like he’s avoiding me. . .”

“WingDings,” Scats voice drops sternly. Normally the tone would encourage a slump in WingDings shoulders but instead his brow bones lift and he gazes up at Scats in awe. The cat shifts uneasily at such a happy expression despite being about to reprimand the child. “That is a selfish thought son. I’m sure he hasn’t forgotten you, it is something that is out of his control.”

“You . . . you said my name,” WingDings didn’t hear anything else the cat has said, it is enough to hear his name from him. It makes his soul lift and his chest feels lighter. He had no idea he missed hearing his name so much. Without Mettaton around, he’d rarely heard it recently, if at all.

Taking a breath to speak, Scats stops himself and puts a finger to his lip. He hunches a bit, twitching a tad as he considers this. “I . . . yes I suppose I did.”

With a broad smile WingDings drops his current project and races up to Scats, hugging the feline’s skinny leg.

“WingDings?” Scats says nervously, before a sad smile creases his lips. “Are you going to be all right son?”

“Can you say it again?” WingDings muffles into his pant leg.

“WingDings,” Scats says happily.

A little embarrassed by how happy this makes him feel the child hides his blushing face into the monsters leg, while jumping up and down. “Again.”

“WingDings.”

The little one bounces on his heels as if he is on a tiny pogo stick.

“WingDings, WingDings, WingDings,” the monster says before bending down and scooping WingDings up who laughs in his unique tone. Scats spins WingDings around, saying his name without a single stutter to his step. When the tall feline becomes much too dizzy he collapses onto the couch with WingDings beside him who can’t seem to quell his giggles no matter how hard he tries.

“Hoo, let’s take a break,” Scats says and turns on the jumbo screen. For once WingDings doesn’t complain even when Mettaton’s live interview comes on. The child only half listens to the metal man go on and on about his latest charity for young actors in the slums of Metta City. As Scats watches the screen, WingDings picks up his tablet again and plays the game he made.

He’s well into adding a new mechanic when Scats shifts beside him and turns up the volume.

“What . . . what is the meaning of this,” the host cries indignantly as several robot guards rush onto the stage and surround Mettaton. “Oh, oh is this a part of your new show?” The human laughs which encourages several other awkward huffs of laughter to echo through the audience.

Slowly, WingDings looks from the screen to Scats. When he sees the monster twitching only then does the child begin to feel a little nervous himself.

On the screen Mettaton has a hand up to his chest, a silent ‘oh my’ on his stiff lips. The monster looks directly at the screen before a smile comes to his face and he stands to his feet. “Oh no, but that is a splendid idea Henry. But no, these fine robots are here to escort me to my next performance,” he tells everyone with a twirl of his hand and sway of his hips. “You have all been a fabulous audience and it is always a delight working with you Henry. Have a wonderful night everyone.”

As WingDings watches the performance he doesn’t stop watching Mettaton, even as Henry and the audience stands, giving the actor a rowdy applause of thanks. Without thinking, WingDings is standing to his feet unaware that Scats is following him and carefully watching the screen while shaking like a leaf.

Shutting off the screen with a swift verbal command, Scats stares at the blank screen with twitching whiskers. “That answers your question WingDings,” he says to the boy softly. “He hasn’t been avoiding you, but the M.C.P.”

It takes a moment for WingDings to process what the feline is inferring, but he’s a sharp kid. “He thought being on shows would keep them from taking him.”

“He must have, otherwise he wouldn’t be working on so many live talk shows and concerts at once, it’s poor scheduling,” Scats moves to the coat closet, motioning for WingDings to follow. “No doubt the police will be here shortly. We need to leave before they get here.”

“We can’t leave,” WingDings says clutching his tablet to his chest. “I need Mettaton to give me my soul.”

“And I can’t allow the M.C.E. to have you,” Scats tells him, shrugging on his coat and grabbing WingDings jacket as well. It has a large hood lined in fur to hide his face.

As Scats helps him with the coat WingDings doesn’t fight him but he does press his lips in frustration. “We don’t know that for sure,” he mumbles, terrified of facing those robots again, but determined not to let Mettaton get off so easily. If Mettaton gets capture what then? Will these past several weeks have been for nothing?

“Mettaton and Alphys are convinced otherwise and I think we’d both be wise to heed that advice,” Scats informs the stubborn child as he fixes his hood around his face.

“Mister Scaredy, why are you always so determined to keep me safe?” WingDings asks in a huff of frustration, pushing his tablet into his coat pocket.

“I don’t know son, why is your soul so full of the stuff?” Scats chuckles good-naturedly as he reaches for the door handle. 

Just as Scats is about to turn the handle WingDings spies a flash of blue beneath the crack in the door and hears a muted static in his soul. “Wait!” WingDings reaches up for Scats arm but the door is already open.

There in front of them stands the relaxed yet intimidating figure of Sans the skeleton.

Panic sparks in WingDings soul, but he clutches Scats pant leg to keep himself from bolting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for the end game . . . which I have yet to write. Either I’ll start with the next story and leave this one at a cliff hanger or it will be a while before I post again. Also the part where WingDings mentions visiting two other worlds, I haven’t posted those stories, but maybe someday I will. Again thanks for reading.


	10. They Will Forget You

Standing calmly in the hall Sans doesn’t have to move to strike fear in Scats and WingDings. He doesn’t do much of anything, acting as if he’s patiently waiting for his take out order at a fast food joint. So, if Sans really wanted to hurt them he surely would have done so already. WingDings logically has nothing to fear.

But his body still shakes despite what his mind is telling him.

Scats protectively puts a hand in front of WingDings, a flash of yellow magic glowing from his claws.

“Looks like you’re in one piece Gaster, that’s good,” Sans says, calmly, as if he doesn’t have a monster threatening him with magic and a child looking at him as if he’s the darkness reaching out to him in his forgotten nightmares.

“Don’t call me that,” WingDings buzzes, nearly tripping as Scats backs away from the door.

“Isn’t that you’re name?” Sans replies with a sigh barely held back.

As they move back into the apartment, Sans casually follows after them, smoothly shutting the door behind him as if he were welcomed in this home. There are a few signs that he’s nervous that WingDings can detect. For one thing Sans has yet to take his eye lights off Scats and his shoulders are thrown forward in a tense pose.

“My name is WingDings,” the mysterious child says.

“Heh, you really aren’t him are ya,” Sans laughs making both Scats and WingDings jump a bit. “The Gaster I knew would never give that name. Rather ashamed of it I think.”

WingDings mouth presses into a wavy line as his own mixed feelings over his name permeate his thoughts. To be honest, he loves his name. It’s unique and special, but he doesn’t like how his classmates will often laugh upon first hearing it or adults scrunch their noses in distaste.

“What do you want?” Scats redirects Sans attention, pulling the intimidating skeletons intense study of WingDings away for at least a moment.

“I’m here to take WingDings to the Metta City’s Science Division as instructed by Doctor Alphys,” Sans replies.

“You expect us to believe that,” Scats says, a growl pulsing deep in his throat.

“No, but that isn’t my problem. The doc is kinda pressed on time with the Police showing up and hauling Mettaton in,” Sans admits with a shrug, his stance relaxing a little, as if keeping the whole ‘tough guy’ act is too much effort. “So either you come with me or you stay here and wait for the police to haul you away. It’s your choice.”

“Can you check the security camera’s WingDings,” Scats says knowing the boy has his tablet and thus access to the security camera’s in the building.

While Scats keeps his eyes on Sans, WingDings reaches into his coat and pulls out his tablet. In front of them Sans taps his foot at a steady pace, continuing to watch Scats as WingDings pulls up the live security footage. Biting his lip, WingDings watches as the robotic police surround the building, keeping clear of the main windows as they stealthily make their way into the building.

Seeing the robots again is nothing good. WingDings clutches the tablet unable to look away from the feed and unable to speak.

“WingDings?” Scats asks, worried when his young charge becomes silent. In his worry he looks away from Sans and tilts WingDings tablet to see what he does. Quickly flicking the device off, Scats is too concerned over WingDings to notice Sans walk forward and stand in front of the small skeleton.

There is a hitch in WingDings and Scats breath as they see how close Sans has become. Scats knows Sans could have simply grabbed WingDings if he wanted to, but the fact he doesn’t suggests Sans might be there to help. Meanwhile WingDings brings the tablet to his chest, studying the face of someone he recognizes as his brother, but really knows nothing about. WingDings wants to go with Sans, he can’t help it. Papyrus and Sans are the ones who can make all his nightmares go away.

“Please come with me,” Sans offers his hand to WingDings, even as Scats puts a protective hand on the young skeleton’s skull.

WingDings doesn’t even feel Scats eyes locked onto his other brother.

As soon as WingDings nods his consent, Sans grabs WingDings hand pulling him into his hard chest and vanishing from sight.

Away from the one person who has ever truly cared about him, without saying goodbye.

There is an electric crackle that buzzes over WingDings bones and through the mechanical components of his body. WingDings needlessly closes his eyes, soul throbbing as Sans brings them to a darkly lit room. The light panels are set into the floor creating eerie dark shadows on the dark metallic walls. A burnt dusty smell clings to WingDings ribs as Sans slowly pulls away, removing his large M.C.E. coat and draping it over the boys shoulders, pulling up the hood to hide WingDings completely.

Swimming in the large coat, WingDings has trouble pulling his arms through the sleeves and can’t see with the large hood shadowing his entire face. “I didn’t get to . . .” WingDings doesn’t get to finish as Sans reaches down and takes hold of his upper arm through the sleeve. “Hey!” WingDings shouts, pulling away in complaint as red swims past his vision and into his metal limbs.

“I’m trying to help ya kid, keep your head down,” Sans commands the boy.

Conflicted, WingDings still struggles a little. The child wants to obey his big brother’s alternative self, but he is unhappy and scared and full of a boundless determination he can’t use. What good is being determined when he has no clear direction? To have some kind of control as fear taps him on the shoulder and dares him to look back.

They pass several people and robots as they move into the hall, but WingDings can only see their boots or hear the metal clack of the robots large bodies. Sans plows forward, weaving between the uniformed people and service bots. Eventually the hall opens up and they take a moving sidewalk device, zooming forward and slightly upward. When they step off WingDings notices the lack of people and the narrowing of the hall when they reach a locked sliding door.

“Agent Sans, requesting permission to see prisoner Mettaton,” Sans says to the door.

“Permission granted,” a smooth voice answers, the door opening without uttering a sound. It is perhaps the smoothest door WingDings has ever not heard.

Scuttling through the doorway, Sans continues to press WingDings forward past several doors with no window or bars. It feels cold, the metal as crisp and chill as ice.

“This isn’t the Science Division,” WingDings hisses as he clutches his tablet to his ribs. The device has little use to him now, but still he holds onto it.

“I lied,” Sans shrugs as if it isn’t a big deal and stops in front of one door in particular where Sans gives a knock while saying it out loud. “Knock Knock,” he says, through a speaker by the door.

“W-Who’s there?” Alphys cracks from the speaker, before a static filled grumble break it off. 

“Cash,” Sans answers and with that one word WingDings crisp fears take a momentary back seat.

“Cash who? . . .” 

“No Thanks, I’d rather have peanuts,” Sans snickers.

“. . . What am . . . what am I even doing,” Alphys mumbles. “Just open the d . . . door. . . you know I can’t.”

Sans is still chuckling as he clicks in a special code, unlocking the door. WingDings looks up just high enough to see Alphys magnified eyes glaring in irritation.

“What do I even see in you?” Alphys sighs with warbled worry, she quickly waves them into the room. When the door slides closed, WingDings attempts to remove the hood, but Sans quickly places a hand on top of him, clamping the hood to his smooth skull.

“Sorry kid, camera’s everywhere in here,” Sans says.

“Is that you WingDings?” Mettaton’s voice carries across the small bare room, at least WingDings assumes it’s bare based on the simple grey linoleum floor.

“Yes sir,” WingDings follows the voice, automatically reaching out with one hand. He isn’t reaching out into nothing for long as Mettaton steps forward and takes his metal fingers into his own.

“I’m dreadfully sorry darling, I didn’t think they would be so bold,” Mettaton kneels and hugs the boy who is thankful to be held so securely when nothing makes sense.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye to Mister Scaredy,” WingDings tells him.

Mettaton’s words are cut off by this and he tries to laugh, but it’s a sad attempt. “What makes you think this is goodbye?” he asks.

“Mett . . . Mettaton he needs . . . that piece of his soul,” Alphys speaks up, her words somehow firm despite the pauses. “The M.C.E. is . . . is scrambling to find WingDings Gaster. There isn’t anything we . . . We need him to be whole so we can fix everything. If he gets his memories, back . . . he can, he can fix all this.”

“But Alphys darling he isn’t even the WingDings Gaster you remember,” Mettaton sighs.

“You wanted to save him Mettaton, well save him,” Alphys hisses, pushing her goggle like glasses further up her snout, only to jostle them and be forced to fix them again. 

“Need anything from me?” Sans interrupts.

“No, no Sans, thank you for helping,” Alphys directs towards him.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Sans chuckles. “After all that isn’t really W.D. Gaster.”

“Wh-what?” Alphys sputters in alarm.

“Have fun with that,” Sans continues to chuckle leaving poor Alphys to try and sort through the mess that’s been dropped on her unsuspecting head.

“This isn’t funny!” Alphys shouts after him.

“My jokes are always funny,” and with that Sans chuckles are cut off as he vanishes from the room.

“This. . . this can’t be happening,” Alphys paces close by and WingDings attempts to adjust his hood again only for Mettaton to secure it well over his eyes as he stands to address the fretting lizard monster.

“I’ve always known he’s been from another world,” Mettaton states proudly.

“No you didn’t,” WingDings quickly cuts in, wondering why he just hugged this arrogant man.

“This is a disaster!” Alphys all but screeches. “I should . . . I should have known Sans would . . . would only help me . . . to . . . to humiliate me.”

“Please darling, your dramatics are uncalled for,” Mettaton attempts to sooth her.

“I’ll be dramatic if I want to be!” Alphys yells at him. “I was counting on W.D. Gaster getting me out of this mess.”

“You haven’t been caught yet,” Mettaton reminds her.

“Not yet, but they will figure it out,” Alphys frets. “They will.”

As Alphys and Mettaton go on about just how much trouble they are in WingDings becomes distracted when he feels a tugging twitch on his soul. Twisting his hooded head in the direction of the door, WingDings clutches the tablet and moves towards it. He can tell it’s close, as if it’s moving somewhere above his head.

Only to stop when the speaker buzzes. “Doctor Alphys you’re being called for by Master Asriel,” a man says through the device.

“Oh no,” Alphys shuffles to the door, quickly taking WingDings by the shoulders and moving him out of direct sight of the door. WingDings really has to wonder at the purpose of this considering there are camera’s in the room. What’s the point of trying to hide him. Despite these logical and glaring facts, WingDings doesn’t move as Alphys waits at the door, for the guard to unlock it for her.

“Stay here,” Alphys tells them as it opens.

“You make it sound as if we have a choice in changing our current venue,” Mettaton sighs musically, making light of his situation or putting on an act. Probably both.

“R . . . right,” Alphys ducks out of the room and the door seals with a crisp hiss. 

WingDings waits expectantly near the door, noticing how the pull on his soul shifts again. Wherever the other piece of his soul is, it is very close and it is moving around. Is it looking for him? He hopes it is, because he can’t leave this room without teleporting.

And that did not go well last time.

Maybe he could use the tablet? But it’s only programmed to affect things in the apartment and WingDings isn’t a hacker genius.

Yet.

“Come here WingDings, it isn’t safe for you by the door darling,” Mettaton gains his attention, but WingDings is hesitant to move. He doesn’t want to lose the feeling of the other piece of his soul.

“You were right Mettaton,” WingDings finally says, walking carefully in the direction of Mettaton’s voice.

“I usually am, but what was a right about on this occasion?” Mettaton asks.

WingDings is tempted not to answer, but he’s young enough where waiting that long would be irritating. “There is another piece of my soul here,” WingDings says.

“Then that isn’t my imagination,” Mettaton looks up and to the side, the very place WingDings sensed the piece of his soul.

“I think it’s time for me to go home,” WingDings says, lifting one palm out to Mettaton. “I want it back now.”

“Darling, all in good time,” Mettaton starts.

Stomping his foot, WingDings eyes burn red and the motors and gears of his body kick into overdrive. “NOW!” the six year old finally has a direction to point his determination and it’s directed at his guardian. “Thank you for taking care of me, but I’m going home!”

For once Mettaton is speechless, eyeing the hot magic lighting beneath WingDings coat cautiously. “WingDings, if I give it to you now how will you get the other piece?” Mettaton reminds WingDings. “I’ll forget you, I’ll forget so much, I won’t be able to help you.”

Hand still outstretched WingDings remains stubborn despite the niggling of fear and doubt burrowing through his parts. Logic appeals to some dormant part of himself, but he doesn’t understand and he doesn’t want to. All he wants is the piece of his soul.

And like any six year old demanding something he expects the adult to give it to him immediately.

Lifting a hand Mettaton brushes a strand of wayward hair from his neck, studying WingDings before lowering himself to one knee. Caught off guard when Mettaton lowers himself to his level, WingDings leans back, but resolutely remains there with his heavy metal hand outstretched.

“Don’t let this go to your bold head darling, but you’re right,” Mettaton says softly, putting a hand gently to his chest and opening a compartment. With a snap a little window opens revealing a speck of light, that shines like a shard of glass hit in sun light.

WingDings doesn’t look away, the heat of his emotions become a warm confidence as he sees that small piece of himself.

“Even if I forgot you, I know I’d still help you,” Mettaton says confidently.

“You’re actually becoming the hero,” WingDings beams.

“Oh hush I was always the hero,” Mettaton banters.

Reaching towards his chest Mettaton is about to remove the piece when the doors to the nice prison room slide open, but WingDings is too distracted, by the pounding of his soul to notice.

Mettaton looks up, concern sparking red in his eyes until they are blown wide with fear. When Mettaton’s hand lower and he stands to his feet again, WingDings steps forward, looking up at the metal man as he grabs at his pant leg with one hand. They’re so close, what has the man so distracted this time? 

What Mettaton says next is barely a hiss of a whisper on his smooth polished lips. “Gaster.”

“I’m WingDings,” WingDings huffs, rolling his red eye lights, “Did you forget already?”

WingDings bewilderment is only broken when quick steps speed towards him. “WingDings,” a familiar voice calls to him.

Like a cool rain, WingDings hot magic reaching for his soul is momentarily soothed as he turns and see’s Frisk running towards him. Even as WingDings turns to face the teenager he doesn’t react, the tight pull of loving arms catching him and scooping him up with a strength that makes him question what is happening.

This isn’t a dream right?

This is really happening?

Through building tears that WingDings doesn’t register, he looks up into Frisks face and immediately buries his head in their worn shirt. It’s Frisk. It’s his Frisk. His hero.

“How charming,” a new voice sizzles and pops close by. The hiss of the door is heard as it shuts and locks, a dark form of metal and black cloth gliding forward.

Upon hearing the voice Frisk clutches WingDings a little tighter, peeking over their shoulder at the tall mechanical man that led them to this place.

“Doctor Gaster, you’re . . . alive,” Mettaton attempts to keep smiling, but steadily steps back towards the far wall as the tall remnants of a skeleton monster slinks forward. The would be hero covers the window on his chest, momentarily hiding the piece of WingDings soul.

WingDings head whips around out of Frisks shirt to catch sight of his other self. Another wave of magic burns in his soul as the second piece of his soul strides towards Mettaton.

This version of himself appears to be hardly a skeleton at all, more machine than bone and dressed in shredded black cloth that moves like liquid. WingDings can see the light of machines as his garments shift around him, his body fading in and out like a light swallowed in dense waves of fog.

“Don’t act so surprised old friend,” Gaster says in his static filled font. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you’ve wasted far too much of my time.” Without warning, a mechanical limb of some kind grabs Mettaton.

The man doesn’t scream or show sign of pain, but with a flash of red in his eyes he collapses to the ground.

“Mettaton!” WingDings shouts trying to go to him, but Frisk holds him back.

With the fluidity of curling smoke, Gaster shifts lower and plucks the piece of WingDings soul from Mettaton’s frozen body.

WingDings stares at Mettaton, waiting for him to move even as his soul pulls against his chest as Gaster walks towards him with not one, but two pieces of his soul.

Now, Mettaton was a lot of things, not all of them good, but he took responsibility for WingDings and cared about him. At least as far as the child knows. Mettaton was even about to finally do what he should have done all along only to have that moment robbed from him by this mysterious shadow of himself.

“I thought you were a good man,” WingDings says, glaring up at Gaster and leaning back into Frisks chest.

“I am, but I imagine from your limited perspective I am not,” Gaster answers calmly, his voice wavering in and out as if snatched and thrown away by an unseen hand. “As agreed Frisk, the power you sought and your young anomaly charge. Now leave, before you and my small self muck anything else up in this dimension.”

“Thank you doctor,” Frisk says cautiously, reaching their hands forward to accept the pieces of WingDings soul.

“Is he going to be okay?” WingDings asks, looking at Frisk who in turn looks at Gaster.

“He’s committed no crime, they’ll let him go,” Gaster assures the child.

“But what about Mister Scaredy? Alphys? And Frederick,” WingDings asks.

“They will forget you,” Gaster replies. “The anomaly will be corrected.”

WingDings doesn’t hear that last part, heck he doesn’t even understand it. All he hears is that one part.

He’ll be forgotten.

“Gaster!” Frisk admonishes the tall faded monster.

“I only spoke the truth,” the man blinks, curious at the dread in WingDings and Frisk reaction.

“WingDings you need to think of home,” Frisk swiftly brings the pieces of WingDings soul to his chest.

“I don’t want to be forgotten,” WingDings says, his magic sputtering even as the pieces of himself float down the collar of his shirt and towards his soul. “I didn’t get to say goodbye to. . .” He doesn’t have a chance to voice his last thought before the world goes dark and bright all at the same time. Overpowering his senses WingDings is pulled across space and time torn between assuring Scats that he is all right and seeing his brothers again. His real brothers. His real family. People that surely would never forget him.

In the end it’s Frisk who takes over, forcing them back to the place they belong in a quaint little home surrounding by family and friends.

Blinking his eye sockets in confusion, WingDings eventually focus’s and see’s as empty plate of cake and ice cream sitting directly in front of him. He is sitting at the head of his family’s little table with Sans standing directly behind him and Papyrus clearing the table of empty plates from his friends. Everyone is smiling and laughing. Everyone that is except Frisk and WingDings.

“Ready to open your gifts?” Sans asks at his shoulder that broad smile of his unknowingly doing it's best to wipe away all of WingDings uncertainty and fears.

WingDings forces himself to smile back, but it’s all just too much for the young child as tears flow from his sockets. As he clutches his arms to his chest he feels the hard tablet of the other world in his hands. Looks like he got to bring a piece of that world with him, but they’d never have anything to remember him by.

Such thinking is a bit too much for WingDings who can’t understand why that hurts as much as it does as he fights not to cry. He isn’t a baby bones, he’s too old to cry, but the tears stream down his face anyway.

There is the harsh grinding scrape of a chair as Frisk stands and rushes to WingDings side. WingDings launches himself at Frisk, clutching his friend and the tablet with a fierce grip. Frisk easily carries them out of the others concerned sight with Papyrus and Sans following close behind them.

Things are never going to be the same after today, but despite WingDings uncertainty he isn’t alone and there are some people who will never forget him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you for your patience to those who were waiting for the end of this story. I really struggled and rewrote the ending a few times. Still a bit of a downer ending, but endings like this should be rare from me. . . hopefully. I prefer happy stuff, it’s the reason I write these stories to unwind after a tough day and explore new worlds and ideas.
> 
> That being said, I’ll be back next week with the next story in this series. The next installment will include more warnings because WingDings will be inhabiting a new body with growing pains and losing baby teeth and other body issues. These things are pretty normal for growing up, but I know there are people out there who are squeamish about these things (my own sister being one of them). I’ll do my best to keep it lighthearted. The first five chapters are ready to go so at least I can guarantee that much before disappearing again. As I said when I started this daunting series, even if there is only one of you I’ll do my best to post this. 
> 
> Thank you for the Kudos, I am so grateful.


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